


Soul of a Gryphon

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [55]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Judgment, Soul or Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: The gryphon may be the power, but the human is the soul.  As Parker’s magic reintegrates with his core, the tainted gryphon fights, forcing drastic measures and one last confrontation between the negotiator and his wild side.  Because one thing’s for sure: either Greg wins or he’s not waking up.  Ever.
Relationships: Ed Lane/Sophie Lane
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [55]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 49
Kudos: 14





	1. Tainted Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the fifty-fifth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "A Wing and A Prayer".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

_Previously_

“Guys, I got a signal,” Spike called. “Lower level, north quadrant. He’s not moving.”

“What’s down there?” Eddie demanded.

“Storage room.”

“Could be digging in,” Parker suggested.

Through the ‘team sense’ and over the comm, he heard his teammates start to move, Ed reeling off orders. “Let’s go. Okay, listen up. This guy knows the terrain. We go in hard and fast. Boss, get him on the phone, keep him occupied.”

Already dialing, Greg replied, “Copy that.”

The phone rang twice, then Collins picked up, fury and resentment seething. “What were you thinking, Parker? I had it under control.”

“It looked ragged. I made a call. Why don’t you come on in and we’ll debrief.”

Sarcasm echoed in words drenched with disdain and scorn. “I’ll bring my sidearm, you bring your _inkblots_ , we’ll see who makes a better case.”

A clatter of noise drew Sergeant Parker around, bringing him face-to-face with a nine millimeter semi-automatic. He backed off, raising his hands as he regarded the man holding that weapon.

Over the comm, he could hear his team leader. “Greg, come in. Greg.” A pulse of worry thrummed in the ‘team sense’. “Greg, come in. Boss, make some noise.” Horrified realization broke through. “He’s got Greg.”

Hazel blinked closed and opened with a gryphon’s vicious glee.

* * * * *

The former cop shoved him, almost sending him off the ledge – his feet still touched the metal, but his entire upper body was hanging over thin air. He had just one anchor left. Collins.

The question fought its way free, the last vestiges of the negotiator he was _supposed_ to be. “What do you want from me, Gil?”

Mockery, arrogance, and scorn – each was hurled at him as he fought to hold the line against his wild side. “Thought that was obvious. I want a lesson. You got an agitated subject bent on revenge. So show me how it’s done, Parker. Talk me down!”

In the depths of his soul, the gryphon snarled.

* * * * *

His words were shaky, misery and fear rattling. “Threat level red, Gil. You have to consider me threat level red.”

“You’re joking. I’ve got you tied to a _rope_ , dangling off the edge of a _scoreboard_ and _you’re_ threat level red?”

“Yeah,” Greg breathed. “I am, Gil.”

“If this is some _trick_ to get me to let you _up_ , it’s _not_ working!”

“ _No!_ ” He yelled the word. “Gil, you _can’t_. You _can’t_ let me up. If you do, I’ll _kill_ you, Gil.”

* * * * *

“Just listen, Eddie. I don’t have much time left. I’m _proud_ of you; you’re going to make a _great_ Sergeant. Better than I ever was. And Wordy’s going to make a great team leader – but let Sam have a turn or two, you hear me? Spike and Lou – they’re two of the best techs in the whole SRU, you tell ‘em I said that. Jules… Ed, tell her, it wasn’t anything she missed – I missed this, too. That’s my fault, that’s _my_ fault. Tell my kids I love them – _all_ of them. And Eddie?”

“Yeah, Greg?”

“I still don’t regret a _thing_.”

Tears ran down Ed Lane’s face as he listened to his best friend’s last words.

“Goodbye, Ed. See you on the other side.”

* * * * *

“I’m a _traitor_ , that’s what I _do!_ ” One shoulder hiked in a shrug and Max spread his hands wide. “You want to stop me, you got one way. Kill me.”

* * * * *

Alone. In the cold. In the dark.

_Where am I? And how do I get home?_

His magic was silent. His ‘team sense’ was gone.

_Please…I just want to go home…_

* * * * *

_Now_

Ed Lane entered St. Mungo’s at a run, his team and his boss’s kids right behind him. Ahead of them, the on-scene Healers raced their patient to the waiting hospital Healers, yelling medical jargon back and forth at each other. Aside from the levitating stretcher, the scene was identical to a techie hospital’s emergency room. Right down to the nurse who halted Team One and ushered them to a private waiting room, promising to bring them news as soon as it was available.

* * * * *

Susan Travis bit back a string of curse words she’d learned from her brother and father as she regarded the initial core scan. How in _Merlin’s_ name had this been _missed_? Turning to a nearby orderly, she snapped, “Get a batch of Cleansing Potion going, _stat!_ And get me a dose of Draught of the Living Death!”

As the orderly raced to retrieve the potion, the Healer whipped back to her patient, wand flying, spells darting from its tip. If he could be stabilized until the Cleansing Potion was ready, he might yet have a chance. She thrust the doubts away; no, he _had_ a chance – she just had to make sure _that_ was enough.

“Stay with me,” she ordered the silent man. “Don’t you _dare_ give up on me now.”

* * * * *

Three hours later, Susan slipped out of her patient’s room, sighing in relief as she slumped against the wood. Her fingertips burned with the feel of the magic she’d been using, almost too much for one day. Exhaustion throbbed at her temples and her day still wasn’t done. No, now she had to explain to Parker’s medical proxy what they’d missed. What _she’d_ missed.

And what that would cost the man lying in a coma on the bed.

* * * * *

“Auror Lane, _you_ are Auror Sergeant Parker’s medical proxy. I do not have authorization from my patient to inform anyone other than you of his status.”

“ _I’m_ giving you permission,” Ed growled. “Look, they’re gonna hear it all any way. You might as well just tell us yourself rather than making me repeat it.” His eyes glinted, making it clear she would regret making him do just that.

For a long moment Healer and Auror faced off, then Healer Travis gave in with a sigh and gestured for the group to follow her. She led them to an exam room, large enough for the team and the young Calvins to crowd into, then drew her wand, lighting up a strip along the wall that looked just like a techie film viewer, only flat and embedded into the wall itself.

“I will need assistance from one of you to explain more fully,” the Healer announced, turning to face her audience. “Auror Braddock?”

Sam jumped, but stepped forward, game. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Permission to record a scan of your magical core and show the results to everyone here in this room.”

Ed arched a brow before the blond could reply. “Why Sam and not Word?”

“I’m a first gen Squib, Ed,” the big constable cut in. “And that’s only because of…” He trailed off, but all his teammates understood.

“Precisely,” Healer Travis confirmed. “However, if you’d _like_ to share…” She dangled her sentence, then blinked in surprise as Wordy glanced at his team leader, then shrugged and stepped forward.

“This won’t hurt, Sarge, will it? I mean…” he fumbled, but Susan understood.

“No, Auror Wordsworth,” she replied gently. “A delay in explaining things will not hurt him in the slightest.”

With that, Susan summoned a small transparent sheet of parchment. Levitating it, she directed a spell in Wordy’s direction. Light cascaded around the constable, coalescing around his chest, then flew from him into the parchment. The parchment glowed; when the light faded, it resembled x-ray film.

The Healer scooped the film out of midair and pushed it onto the glowing film viewer; the parchment stuck, the image embedded in it expanding up. A magical core, tinted blue and pulsing gently. And it was much larger than any of the team had been expecting.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed. “Wordy, you…”

“Yeah, Sam,” the big constable agreed, ducking his head, “I really should’ve been a wizard.”

Looking at the image, Ed couldn’t help but concur. The core, while not life-sized, was large, filling the whole of the film and interlaced with a number of darker blue lines. Aside from a few areas that were completely dark, the whole core appeared active, though a small section at the top was the most active.

“Auror Wordsworth, have you been _using_ your core?” Travis demanded, staring at the image with no small amount of horror.

“Um…yeah…”

Blonde fury turned on him. “Are you a complete _idiot_?” she nearly shrieked. “Parker might’ve _somehow_ managed to repair your core enough to keep you from _passing out_ every time you use your magic, but that doesn’t mean you can’t _re-damage_ it, you lummox!”

“Hey, it was use my magic or let me and my teammate end up dead!”

Susan harrumphed as she whipped back to the core scan and inspected it, muttering furiously under her breath about idiot Squibs who overextended themselves. Wordy cringed and Spike looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor in utter chagrin and embarrassment, but their teammates were more amused than anything else. Two big, tough constables cowed by a woman half Wordy’s size and weight.

At length the Healer turned back to the group, landing her patient with the evil eye. “Despite your _extremely_ ill-advised antics, it appears as if your core is continuing to improve, Auror Wordsworth. Don’t go wand shopping yet, you won’t ever be an _actual_ wizard, but your core _may_ eventually reach the point where you can pull off a few magical tricks your average Squib wouldn’t even _dream_ of doing.”

With that, her eyes returned to the blond sniper. “Auror Braddock?”

Tilting his chin up, Sam replied, “Go ahead.”

Susan inclined her head and repeated the core scan on Braddock, producing another parchment film, although, when she placed it on the viewer, the core was tinted silver rather than blue and much smaller than Wordy’s core had been.

A folder was summoned and placed on a handy desk next to the wall; Susan flipped it open as she finally began her explanation. “Thank you, Auror Braddock. This,” she gestured to the film, “is a typical Squib magical core. Small, mostly inactive, and unsuitable for Latin magic use.” A thin smile. “The vast majority of Squib cores are virtually identical to Auror Braddock’s and Auror Sergeant Parker’s was no different.”

Ed waved her to a halt. “Last names or first names, but drop the titles. Otherwise this is going to take forever.”

Faint relief shone, though Travis disguised it by clearing her throat. “Yes, well, as I was saying, Parker’s was no different.” She gestured to the film once more and spoke distinctly. “ _This_ is essentially how Parker’s core looked before his niece and nephew arrived from Britain. All but unchanged from his birth to that point. Even after their arrival, the core itself remained as it was. I _suspect_ their Wild Magic may have begun gathering around the core.” Susan paused to point to Sam’s core. “You can see here, on this core, a tint of silver. Most Squib cores would not have this tint; I suspect it to be a result of Wild Magic traces gathering around the core itself.”

“Wait,” Wordy interrupted. “You mean most wizards _don’t_ have a magical color? My core’s got a tint, too.”

“Sarge mentioned he could see magical colors when he was stuck in his gryphon form,” Jules agreed. “He didn’t see them around techies, though.”

Travis paused, absorbing the information. “How very interesting,” she murmured to herself, even moving back to Wordy’s core scan to study it for an instant. Then she shook her head and returned to Sam’s core scan. “I’ve seen a great many magical core scans and almost none of them have this sort of tint,” she mused. “Perhaps the magic _itself_ has a color, but not the core.” The Healer tapped her chin, then returned to her explanation. “I have in my records the results of the core scans taken after Parker’s collapse two years ago. Unfortunately, no scans were taken prior to that point, so we don’t have a baseline core scan on file.”

The team grimaced, understanding, all too clearly, why Sam’s core scan had been needed.

Briskly, Susan put up a scan all of them had seen before: their Sergeant’s destroyed magical core. “Truly,” the Healer murmured, “I have no idea what could have caused damage on this scale. In all honesty, I suspect Parker’s core must have had some sort of inherent…weakness. A chink, if you will, that allowed one well placed blow to rip it to shreds.”

“It was a concussion grenade,” Sam piped up – Travis gifted him with an almost lethal glare.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Magical cores are _not_ that fragile! I can believe the grenade was used as a trigger of sorts, but _something_ had to do the _actual_ damage!”

“What?” Ed asked, but the Healer shook her head sorrowfully.

“That, Auror Lane, I do not know. And without a baseline scan of Parker’s core, I can’t even speculate.” Another core scan joined the first three, but Susan remained with Parker’s first core scan. Pointing to the image itself, she explained, “You can see here that the foundation,” she paused long enough to indicate the foundation on Sam’s scan, “has been completely destroyed. This core is no longer capable of supporting or generating magic. In fact, that instant must have been extraordinarily painful; the magic itself would have been seeking any sort of support it could find. Support the core could no longer offer.”

Unaware of the subtle squirming from behind her, she moved to the fourth scan. “The goblins did an excellent job on the core repairs, especially given what they had to work with.” The Healer pointed to six areas on the scan. “You can see here that the goblins have set up six foundational points, giving the core a framework of support while it heals from the damage. A lattice of sorts has been set up on the foundation, re-creating a core’s typical centric structure. Much more delicate than the original, I’m afraid, but quite workable.”

“How long would it have taken to heal?” Jules asked.

“That I’m unsure of, but several years at the minimum,” Susan replied. “A decade or more at the maximum.” Another core scan was added to the line. “In the aftermath, the goblin Healers insisted on regular magical core checkups, to ensure the damage was healing correctly.” She tapped the image. “This is from about a year in.” A sweep indicated the whole core and the scarlet streaked with a multitude of darker lines. “You can see that the core is straining, indicating that it’s holding a great deal more magic than it was originally intended to. However,” Susan’s finger moved to the six foundational areas, “in spite of that, the healing was progressing as well as could be expected. Several ‘bridges’ had been formed between the goblins’ repairs and the whole foundation was well on its way to recovery.”

“So what happened?” Lou questioned shrewdly.

Aching sorrow met the constable’s eyes. “Sergeant Parker saved Roy Lane’s life.”

Horror swept the room and Ed took a step back, a flash of that day flying through his mind’s eye. The determination on Greg’s face as he _held_ Roy frozen in time, forcing that _last_ instant of life to stretch…long enough for the Healers to save his brother’s life. The descent of on-scene Healers, forcing the team aside. The feel of something within him shuddering and dying.

“What did he do?” Wordy.

“He overextended himself,” Susan replied simply, putting a fresh scan up. “But I’m afraid our on-scene Healers didn’t come out smelling like roses either. _He_ overextended, but _they_ broke the connection between his magic and the core.” Grimly, she traced the foundational areas, which had, in the prior scan, been solid and load-bearing. Each and every one was cracked.

Without saying anything more, she added the next scan to the row. “This scan was taken immediately after Parker was restored to his human form.” Ed nodded, remembering the stop he and Greg had made on their way to his house, largely at Giles Onasi’s insistence. The Healer pointed to the still damaged foundational points, then swept her hand over the whole image. “In hindsight, it’s easy to see, but at the time…” She trailed off, shaking her head at the team’s confused expressions. “The color,” she prompted softly.

Alanna gasped. “The scarlet’s gone,” she cried. Every head in the room snapped to the image, only to see that she was right.

“Not entirely,” Susan corrected, indicating a small section right at the core’s edge. Her gaze shifted to them. “I believe that when Sergeant Parker regained his magic, it failed to merge with his core properly. Wizard or Squib, the magical core is _essential_ to magical control – magic that has _not_ merged with the core is prone to…independence. Acting on its own.”

Spike waved a hand. “So he really _couldn’t_ control his magic?” the ashen bomb tech asked, dread in every line.

“That would be correct,” Susan confirmed softly. “I believe this was also the point at which Sergeant Parker’s magic was tainted.”

The room froze again. Lance tilted his chin up. “How did _that_ get missed, Healer Travis?” The young man’s eyes were hard, his tone acid enough to dissolve steel.

Shame gleamed in the young Healer’s eyes. “I can make no excuse, Heir Calvin; he is _my_ patient and I should have caught it.” Drawing in a breath, she added one final scan to the row. “This is the scan that was taken when Sergeant Parker was admitted today. You can see from this scan that while his magic has re-merged with his core, virtually all of it has been tainted. We’ve administered Draught of the Living Death to keep him unconscious until a batch of Cleansing Potion can be brewed; we’ll administer that tomorrow. I expect we’ll need to consult with Gringotts on a Cleansing Ritual, but first we need to get him through the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“He’s right on the edge,” Ed concluded grimly.

“I’m afraid so, Auror Lane,” Travis whispered. “The tainted magic is rebelling against the second merge, threatening to collapse the entire core. Should the core collapse, the tainted magic will flood Sergeant Parker’s body and destroy his nervous system.”

“Destroy his nervous system?” Jules asked, horror and alarm threading her voice.

Travis nodded unhappily. “In addition to allowing magical control, the core protects the body’s electrical systems from magical… _interference_. Without that protection…” She trailed off, but her listeners understood.

“What about the gun?” the team leader questioned. “What did _it_ do to Greg?”

“Gun?” Susan asked. “I saw no gun on Sergeant Parker when he was admitted.” Team One traded looks, then Sam briefly explained the chain of events at Fletcher Stadium. When he was done, the Healer frowned. “May I see the weapon?” she requested.

Ed nodded, pulling the evidence bag out. “Chain of custody on that,” he remarked.

“Understood,” Susan acknowledged, digging in her Healer’s coat pocket for an old-fashioned ink pen to sign the chain of custody form. Once she’d done so, the constable surrendered the weapon to her care. “I’ll examine this,” she promised, before bringing her head up and meeting their eyes.

“Go home. There’s nothing more you can do here except pace and worry. Neither of which will help your Sergeant. If anything happens overnight, I’ll contact Auror Onasi.”

Though Team One was reluctant to leave, they were all exhausted and still had yet to debrief from the stadium hot call. At length, Susan persuaded them to depart for the night.


	2. The Trial of Greg Parker

Cold. Darkness. He could feel cloth beneath his fingers, but for some reason, Greg felt as though he’d been stripped bare. Stripped of all the masks, all the training, stripped of everything save his core essentials. Essentials that felt pitifully inadequate. Truly, he’d spent so much of his life depending on others that he no longer knew what it was to _really_ stand on his own two feet. No matter which aspect of his life he considered, always there had been _someone_ to lean on, to talk with and bounce ideas off of. To be completely, utterly _alone_ felt wrong, left him bereft and adrift.

His magic was silent, his ‘team sense’ gone, as if it had never existed. For all he knew, this was death and he was never going home. Fear shook him almost as much as the chill around him. Though he sought to peer through the blackness, to see where he was and what he was wearing, his eyes saw nothing. No light, no sound, no heat.

Just himself and his thoughts. Thoughts that had always been very poor company.

* * * * *

The change was so gradual that Greg wasn’t sure when he first became aware of it. Light and warmth, flowing around him. He turned towards the sensation, finally getting a glimpse of his own clothing. A simple white cotton shirt; his fingers touched his pants and he suspected they were jeans, but he couldn’t see them yet.

Sound joined the light and heat, gradually growing loud enough to hear. As it finally reached an audible level, Greg’s surroundings cleared and he found himself standing right outside a courtroom. As he glanced around, he also registered that he was wearing jeans, as he’d suspected, and a pair of dark brown hiking boots. The courtroom doors looked like mahogany, richly stained and exquisitely carved with ornate brass handles that almost looked as if they’d grown right out of the wood; better than anything ever crafted by human hands. Fit for royalty of a caliber far above earthly standards.

The sound rose, the most striking voice Greg had ever heard. It demanded his attention, abducted his thoughts, compelled his agreement. Whoever owned the voice was a true orator, a gifted statesman, skilled at whatever he turned his hand to. A better _negotiator_ than Greg could ever hope to be.

“Even now,” the voice announced, “He spends his nights lying awake, plotting the best way to push his young charges away from him before he does so by _accident_. Plotting how to _prove_ to his son that his son should _never_ trust him again, before he _betrays_ that trust by _accident_.”

A shiver crawled up Greg’s spine; in spite of the beauty, the voice now grated. A prosecutor, standing before the King, the Judge, the _Emperor_ and accusing with every word spoken.

“All he has ever wanted was a second chance. A second _family_ ,” the voice sneered. “How many years has he dreamt of these moments, of these chances? And now he would throw them back in Your face, _deliberately_. All for the _fear_ that he will do so by _accident_.”

The man outside the courtroom hugged himself, shame engulfing his soul. All true, all so very true. Already the guilty verdict rang in his head.

The prosecutor paused a moment, then continued, each word ripping into the listener’s heart. “All that You have given him and he fritters it away with fears and doubts, letting each lodge in his heart. Letting them steal away his time and his joy; even the _woman_ You have granted him is regarded with suspicion!”

_Marina…_ How many times had he alternately cursed and thanked that spell of Morgana’s? Transference or no transference, Marina had worked her way into his heart; in truth, he could see himself spending the rest of his life with her, but… She still resented his kids, blaming _them_ for his ‘not introducing her to them’. Jealous of the time he spent with them. His _nipotes_ , they _had_ to come first – they were his family, after all.

“And as for his _team_ …” The sneer echoed. “They trust him with their lives. With their very _souls_. They _depend_ upon him. And how has he repaid their trust, I ask?”

Greg shivered at the pregnant pause, _knowing_ what was coming.

“He has _betrayed_ them,” the voice declared triumphantly. “Secrets kept, lie after lie that he has told. Even with his _commander_ , he has broken trust. All the lives, all the relationships, all the _careers_ that rest upon his shoulders; he is _unworthy_ of them. When _he_ falls, _they_ shall fall as well.” The prosecutor snorted. “He _knows_ the sniper and his fellow negotiator dance together once more, but will not acknowledge such, for _fear_ of losing them all!”

All true, all so horribly true.

“All You have offered him and he has slapped it away, choosing his own course over Yours time after time after time. A drunken failure, a bitter disappointment, and a shameful disgrace.” The prosecutor pounded what sounded like a podium. “I say take him _now_ , before he can drag the others further down. Before he can embarrass You any more than he already has. Before he can _destroy_ Your Son’s Heirs.”

It was coming, Greg knew it. The verdict, already pre-determined and _not_ in his favor.

Another voice spoke, warm as the sun, gentle as the sea, soft as the wind’s whisper, and yet as unyielding as steel. “All of that is true, but he is Mine and I have paid for his failures.”

_What?_

“He is not Yours!” the prosecutor thundered.

“Enough, Tash!” the Emperor commanded.

_Tash?_

“We no longer hold any of it against him,” the Emperor continued. “It is now a family matter and no longer the purview of this court.”

_A…_ family _matter?_

“He has violated the Law,” Tash objected loudly. “A Life for a Life, that is the Law and yet _he_ has transgressed that Law. A Law _You_ set into place at the beginning of Time! Surely such an offense is _much_ too severe to be considered a family matter!”

Greg shivered again, memories of Roy’s brush with Death curling around him, shrieking fresh condemnation.

“You have forgotten, Tash; a Life _was_ given. My Son’s.”

“Always You appeal to that,” Tash whined. “Surely there is a limit to what Your Son’s death can cover.”

The Emperor’s voice turned thunderous in an instant. “Point to _one_ treachery on My Son’s account and I will concede your argument, Tash.”

Tash made no response, though Greg could practically _see_ him sulking.

“My Son’s death is enough payment for all the Lives that have lived, now live, and _will_ live, Tash. His blood, if they so choose, covers them and makes them pleasing to My eyes. Do not overlook that again,” the Emperor rumbled. “The Law stands, but My Son has fulfilled it and those that Live are no longer bound by it.” The Emperor paused, as if studying Tash or giving the human outside the courtroom a second to breathe. “I have granted you all the latitude you have asked for, Tash, and still My Son’s Heirs thrive. The Last of Narnia remains and flourishes, despite all that you have done to them. To those they regard as _family_.”

“Still You restrain me,” Tash complained. “How can I adequately challenge their guardian when _You_ will not permit me to? Always You shelter him from the worst I can do, insisting that I not touch a hair upon his head. He does not even _serve_ You!”

Greg swallowed hard at that – true, it was so terribly true. He _knew_ it was true, like he _knew_ he had blood in his veins, like he _knew_ the soul within him was real.

The Emperor was unconcerned with the accuser’s argument. “He will make his choice in time, Tash, as all men do. Many there are, who do not follow My Son in their youth and yet come to Me when they hear My call upon their lives. I will not force his choice any more than I would force any man’s choice. He has served Me well in spite of not yet making his choice.”

_I have?_

“He has passed through every challenge you have set before him, Tash. Scathed perhaps, but still in possession of his wits and morals. They all have.”

“You are proposing something,” Tash observed, suspicion in every syllable.

“They have not yet made their choices,” the Emperor mused. “And yet, they do not curse My name whilst you rain trial after trial down upon their heads. They remain loyal and true to themselves and each other, honoring Me in deed and word alike.”

“They do not serve You,” Tash snarled, desperation reeking.

“They defy _you_ ,” came the surprisingly wry counter. “Is that not serving Me?” When Tash failed to reply, the Emperor announced, “For their efforts, I shall grant them several gifts of My own choosing.”

“They have not _earned_ any gifts!” Tash shrieked. “They do not serve You, they serve only their own selfish interests!”

“Enough!” At the rolling thunder in that voice, Tash once again cringed and fell silent. “Do not imagine Me blind to your plots, Tash! I know well the damage you have wrought in his magic! In the anchors that lie between them! No more! Never again will you _taint_ and _twist_ his abilities to suit your interests or advance your schemes! If you do so, the consequences will be _severe_ , Tash! Heed My warning, for I shall not warn you again.”

Though sullen, Tash replied, “I hear and obey.”

The Emperor’s tone calmed, though steel remained in each word. “If you wish, Tash, you may choose. Either I shall grant the guardian and his own My chosen gifts or I will grant them one boon for each time they have risen above the trials _you_ have set before them.”

Almost before the Emperor finished speaking, Tash announced, “I defer entirely to Your wisdom in this matter.”

Outside the courtroom, Greg struggled to keep from chortling too loudly.

The Emperor once more was silent, the moment hanging as the human regained his breath yet again. “Very well, Tash; I shall chose.” Wry humor danced in the words, only to fade into a solemn tone once more. “Let us move on.”

“Move on?” Tash inquired, darkness and more than a touch of fear in the question.

“Yes,” the Emperor replied dryly. “Let us speak of Camelot.”

_Camelot?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Almighty, I hope I never have to go through a week like last week ever again. Just shy of 70 work hours in one week and I wasn't even the one who was worst off by the end of it all. I'm really hoping this week will be better and Monday was, but I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. It doesn't help that this system I'm working with appears to have been balanced on a razor's edge and investigating any issues involves digging through a system I don't really understand.
> 
> Please pray for my job, my coworkers, and for me to find a better computer chair than the one I have. It worked so long as I wasn't spending 10+ hours a day on the computer, but now my back is _not_ happy and I have to rob Peter to pay Paul as far as time goes. Sadly, I probably won't even be able to look at a new chair until Saturday, although I've got my eye on a good possibility. I looked into buying brand-new, so I could be sure to get exactly what I wanted, but with a lead time of 40 business days...ugh...my back won't survive that long.


	3. The Emperor's Magic

“Tell Me, Tash, what is My Law regarding the Lives of Men?”

Though Tash’s voice was nervous, he clearly understood which Law the Emperor referred to. “You have decreed that Men may Live one life and one life only.”

A rustling arose in the courtroom, but what caused the sound, Greg couldn’t tell. “That is so,” the Emperor agreed, but His voice was soft. Still. Like the air before lightning split it. “Tell me then, Tash, why the Court of Camelot walks once more among the Living.”

Greg’s jaw dropped open.

Claws flexed open and closed, but not in threat. Fear. Tash’s magnificent voice trembled with that terror. “It is as foretold.”

“Ah.” Calm, still, but fury lurked. The listener sensed that the Emperor had known perfectly well what Tash’s answer would be, but still had asked the question, forcing Tash to voice the words that would seal his fate. “You speak of the prophecies of the Once and Future King.”

“Yes.” A low hiss, interlaced with hate and desperation.

“Prophecies that _you_ yourself inspired.”

“You permitted them.”

Silence, as though the Emperor was leaning back in His throne, regarding Tash with a mix of disappointment and disapproval. “I have permitted a great many false prophecies over the ages, Tash. That was not license for you to fulfill them.”

“You did not stop me.” Sharp and defensive.

“I did not,” the Emperor agreed, a thread of warning in the words. “But hear Me well, Tash. _No_ Man may live beyond the days _I_ have allotted to him. I permitted your actions and I will not change My mind, but they may choose as freely in their new lives as they could in their old. Should they choose a different fate, I will allow it.”

“But!”

“You should have considered that before you returned them to Life,” the Emperor decreed. Despite the force of His words, His voice did not rise, nor did it shout. “Once they have passed beyond their new allotment of days, Tash, they may _not_ be returned to this Life unless _I_ command it so.”

“Am I to suffer so, that You would deny me my rightful spoils?”

“Spoils you chose to return to Life,” the Emperor countered dryly. “But do not fear, Tash. Your time is not at an end yet. Do as you will, challenge the guardian, his own, and My Son’s Heirs as you please. Summon allies to your cause, I will not interfere; their reward will be all the greater for your efforts.”

“You speak as if they have already succeeded,” Tash sneered.

“So I do.” After a moment, the Emperor remarked, “As you have no further business before this court, Tash, I must ask that you depart. My Son would speak to the Son of Adam who has been waiting patiently for this session to come to its conclusion.”

An instant later, the doors to the courtroom were thrust open by a furious, seething vulture-like creature who paused long enough to leer in Greg’s direction before it departed in a whip of solid _darkness_. The human trembled at the force of the raw _malevolence_ directed at him, along with the certainty that he was utterly outmatched by his opponent.

“Greetings, Son of Adam.”

Turning, Greg swore he was looking into the Sun. Light surrounded the great Lion, coming from Him as much as it came from around Him. Amber eyes caught his own, gentle and fierce all at once; the Lion before him was not _tame_ ; He was more dangerous than anyone or anything Greg had ever encountered – more dangerous even than Tash.

And yet… He was Righteousness personified; all that was Good, all that was Light, all that was Love, He embodied all of it. He was Justice, He was Mercy, He was Grace, and His Judgment was absolute. _He_ stood at the core of the Deep Magic, _He_ stood as the Life Given, and _He_ interceded before the Throne of His Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, for every Life that bowed to Him.

Shame and a keen sense of utter _unworthiness_ erupted; Greg found himself on the ground without any conscious decision. What was _he_ , that Aslan could even _stand_ to look at him, much less greet him? Inside his mind, Greg re-lived every single time in his life that he’d fallen short, even by human standards. Standards that were as pitiful as he – if he couldn’t even live up to _lesser_ standards, how could he even _dare_ to measure himself against the Lion’s standards? He couldn’t, not if he was being honest with himself and something about this _place_ had shredded every pretention he’d ever held. Demolished every lie he’d ever told himself. Laid bare all his faults, all his failures, all his screw ups. The lives he’d destroyed, the people he couldn’t save. Every broken promise, every shattered friendship, every time he’d put _himself_ above others. Betrayal, drunkenness, using a little _girl_ to keep _himself_ sober. Lying to her about her mother’s death. Driving his family away. Tash was right, he _was_ a disgrace, an embarrassment that didn’t deserve to live any longer.

“Peace, Son of Adam.”

A warm breath touched his head, spreading through his entire body. A sense of being accepted, just as he was, forgiven, not because of anything _he_ had ever done, but because the Lion _chose_ to do so. Granted a fresh start, because the _Lion_ willed it.

Warmth filled him, chasing away the shame, the doubts, the fears. The darkest places of his mind and heart eased, light filling them and obliterating the shadows. His magic tingled in his chest, no longer burdened by shadows, tainted by darkness. Greg lifted his head, gazing up at the Lion, awe filling him at the healing he could already feel. Every part of himself that was broken and shattered – the pieces were knitting together, stronger for having been tested. Stronger for having been broken – and mended by Love Itself.

“Come, Son of Adam,” the Lion rumbled. “And let us talk.”

* * * * *

The air was clear and bracing, each breath granting more strength and energy rather than leaving the stocky man panting as he struggled to keep up with the far more athletic Lion. Somehow, his strides easily kept pace with the large animal as they traveled through woods, fields, and waded several small creeks.

At first, the Lion merely walked and did not speak. Greg, despite the warmth of the Lion’s breath still running through him, could not muster up the courage to break the comfortable silence around them. How long they traveled, Greg didn’t know, only that they covered several kilometers before the Lion spoke.

“Have you questions for me, Son of Adam?”

Greg fidgeted at the inquiry. “You, um…gave me most of it already…”

The Lion chuckled at that truth. “Ask, Son of Adam, I will not bite.”

Even with the encouragement, it took several minutes for Greg to muster up his courage. “My…my Animagus form…”

“Yes, Son of Adam?” the Lion prodded.

“Could you…could you take it away?”

The Lion halted, swinging to look Greg in the eye, His gaze stern. “The Emperor’s Gifts are not to be squandered, Son of Adam, nor cast away.”

Greg squirmed, feeling very much like a scolded school boy.

Aslan’s gaze softened. “But fear not, Son of Adam. One challenge yet lies before you and then your Animagus form will be your own once more. The troubles you have had were not _entirely_ of your own making, nor were they within your capability to correct.”

Greg’s breath caught. “It won’t…make me do things anymore? It won’t hurt my team?”

“No,” the Lion replied. “Your heart and soul will guide your power, for while your _magic_ may be the power, _you_ are the soul. Magic ungoverned by the soul is chaotic, dangerous, and treacherous. It has no regard for those it harms, even those it claims allegiance to. It is easy prey for Tash’s greed.” The great Lion turned, walking forward once more. “Come, Son of Adam, we are nearly there.”

“Where are we going?”

Without pausing in his stride, Aslan turned his head. “My Father has chosen to grant you a place of your own within the Shadowlands of Narnia. While Narnia’s true Shadowlands have passed away, _this_ place holds much of what they were. No matter what may come, Son of Adam, Tash may not enter this sanctuary, nor manipulate you and yours within its boundaries. Should he influence you outside this place, that influence will end within these borders.”

“So this isn’t just for me? It’s for my team as well?”

“If you should choose to invite them here,” the Lion replied. A glimmer of sorrow entered Aslan’s amber gaze. “Many discoveries lie ahead of you, Son of Adam. Know that if ever you need My aid, call and I will come.”

The human swallowed hard. “You make it sound like those discoveries are going to be…unpleasant.”

A low rumble shook the air. Lion laughter. “My Father’s Gifts will challenge you, but they will be good. Use them well, Son of Adam.”

“I’ll do my best.” Amber glinted with approval and Greg felt his heart soar even as shock ran down his spine. Aslan _approved_ of him? Why?

Again the Lion halted, turning to meet his gaze directly. “My Father spoke truly, Son of Adam. You have not yet made your choice.”

Ashamed, Greg dropped his eyes. His feet shuffled of their own volition and he resisted the urge to slide his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“We will not force your hand in this matter, Son of Adam. I paid a dear price for Man’s Free Will; it is far too valuable to destroy.”

Freedom. Freedom paid for in Blood, the Blood of the Creator’s Own Son. “Freedom isn’t free.” A trite cliché, but it had never felt more true. Never resounded with such power.

“It is well done, Son of Adam.” Greg lifted his head, surprised at the approval, the open praise. “You will choose soon.” The Lion nudged his chest, warmth spreading from the point of contact, filling Greg anew. “Know that I am proud of you, My son.”

Then Aslan was gone, but His words reverberated in Greg’s head, echoing until they sank into his bones. _My son._ Never in his _life_ had he heard that sort of approval in those two words. Sons imitate their fathers and he had _certainly_ imitated _his_. Only his mother had never taken him away as Dean’s mother had. Instead, he had suffered at his _father’s_ hand until he was old enough to run away. Old enough to leave and shake the dust of that _house_ from his feet as he strode off to make his own way, chin held high and determined to do things _differently_. Only to visit that same history, that same suffering on his own family.

Deep inside him, one of the oldest wounds he carried – a wound he’d buried so deeply he hadn’t even _remembered_ it existed – closed over, shining with the golden light of the Lion who’d healed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am giving thanks today. First of all, it is Friday and I hope that means I can have the majority of the next two days off. Second of all, as of yesterday, late afternoon, my old home office chair was taken away and replaced with a new-to-me Steelcase Leap V2 (Red Fabric, platinum finish frame with a white back). Very reasonable price and timeframe - the Steelcase Gesture I was eyeing for brand-new costs somewhere around $1500 dollars and if I wanted a headrest, it has a lead time of 40 business days. Given how many hours I'm spending in a chair, I was willing to pay, but the timeframe is unreasonable, even in these days of coronavirus panic. My back wasn't going to survive that long. Aside from some additional minor adjustments, my back is already enjoying having a chair that fits my frame much, much better than the old chair and I'm wondering why I procrastinated so long. Such is life, I suppose.
> 
> Have a great weekend everyone and I pray that you and your families come through the chaos around us intact.


	4. The First Discovery

He stood in the briefing room, but instead of looking out over Toronto, hazel eyes took in the forests, fields, and rivers of Narnia. To the West lay the Lantern Wastes, marking Narnia’s western border. The windows of the briefing room gazed east, towards Cair Paravel on the Eastern Sea. To the North was the land of the giants and dragons, a wild land no Narnian ever ventured into if given the choice. Archenland formed Narnia’s southern border, a nation founded by descendants of Narnia’s First Ruling Line and, as such, Narnia’s staunchest, most ancient ally. He knew this land, as if he’d grown up in it, spent a lifetime learning its history and interacting with its inhabitants.

Funny. He felt closer to Narnia than his mother’s native Italy; there was a distinct _sense_ of _belonging_. If anything didn’t fit, it was the briefing room – the barn stood out like a sore thumb in this land of myth and magic. But the briefing room was part of him, too. Part of his native Toronto and so much a part of his life that to _not_ have it here felt wrong. City and forest. Technology and myth. His life, his _magic_ , straddled two worlds and both held equal claim on his soul.

Greg’s will wavered briefly and the briefing room wavered right along with it. Shaking his head, he firmed his intentions, a flicker of approval darting through him when the briefing room steadied. Glancing around, he took stock. The barn was familiar to his team – much as his wild side wanted the open air, the sprawling forests, and the rushing brooks, _this_ place was better for the team meeting he planned to have. More comfortable, particularly with everything his team needed to know before he woke up.

Here, in this place, he knew he was in control. _When_ he chose to invite his team, they would come. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure; he just knew it. Closing his eyes, Greg extended his first invitation.

* * * * *

Ed Lane stared up at the ceiling as he lay next to a sleeping Sophie, his mind churning as he struggled to figure out what he could’ve done differently. What _they_ could’ve done differently. Why hadn’t they noticed? Why hadn’t it been _obvious_ that Greg’s issues ran far too deeply for it to be _just_ a matter of learning and practice? Why hadn’t they _done_ something when Greg started losing control again?

Abruptly, the thoughts petered out, his mind going curiously warm and blank; sleep beckoned, so strongly that the team leader merely sighed and rolled, curling close to Sophie. Sleep, sleep would be good. His body sank into slumber before he could even finish the thought.

* * * * *

He blinked, staring around at the atrium of the barn. Silence reigned in the normally busy space, but he was…unconcerned about that fact. Something tugged at him, drawing his attention to the open briefing room. Instinct ghosted him forward, hope, joy, and anticipatory disappointment lurking. And when he reached the door, when he peeked inside, a familiar figure was standing at the window, gazing out at the world beyond.

“Greg.”

His friend turned, a wry smile lighting his features, but something about him…

Ed’s eyes narrowed, studying the other man. “If this is one of those beyond the grave visits – one last goodbye before you check out for good, I swear I’ll find a way to drag you back _outta_ the underworld and make you regret it, Greg!”

His friend jerked back, startled, then Greg threw his head back and laughed. _Laughed._ How long had it been since he’d heard Greg _laugh_? Smile, sure; chuckle, double sure, but _laugh_? Ed felt his jaw give way and fresh eyes swept the other man. All the confidence, all the self-assuredness, all the self-respect Greg had lost over the years – it was _back_. For an instant, Ed Lane was looking at the Greg Parker he’d first met and made fast friends with. Two young cops, united against the worst the world could throw at them.

“No, Eddie, not dead yet,” Greg replied, humor glinting and his voice a touch rueful. His gaze sobered. “I’m sorry, Ed, for putting you in that position.”

The lean man swallowed against a lump in his throat. “Don’t do that to us again, Greg. Don’t give up on us.”

“Forget the ‘us’, Eddie; I did that to _you_ ,” Greg countered. “You’re right, Ed, I gave up. I didn’t see any other way out and I wasn’t willing to give your idea a shot.” Shifting to lean against the window behind him, Greg concluded, “I was wrong.” Hazel pinned Ed. “I was about to make you give the order to _kill_ me. I was about to make you _watch me die_.”

Ed felt his fists ball at the memory, so fresh and so raw. Hoarse, he rasped, “Just…don’t do it again, Greg, and we’ll call it even.”

“I don’t think we can, Ed.”

Confusion looked up.

Sorrow gleamed in hazel depths. “Is there something going on with the team I should know about, Eddie?”

Confusion deepened. “Well, we were able to wrap up the stadium call all right. Collins is in custody – you’ve been out a day, by the way…”

Greg lifted a hand, shaking his head. “Ed, stop.” When the other fumbled to a halt, the stocky man met his friend’s eyes. “Ed. Is there anything you’ve been _keeping_ from me? Something you didn’t want me to _officially_ know about?”

With those words, understanding bloomed. Ed jerked back, his response instinctive. “Plausible deniability, Boss.”

“No.” When Ed blinked dumbly, Greg’s gaze turned intent. “Ed, this team is _my_ responsibility. When Jules and Sam break protocol, that’s on _me_ , whether I _know_ about it or not. My team, my problem, my punishment.”

“That’s not fair,” Ed argued at once. “Jules and Sam are sneaking around behind your back, how is that _your_ fault? Plus…” He stopped, shuffling his feet. “…if you _know_ …”

“I have to do something about it,” Greg finished gently. “That sound about right?”

Ed nodded, staring at the floor.

“And I’d have to break up the team.”

Ed flinched. “That’s what Toth told you?”

“Yeah, Eddie, he did,” Greg confirmed quietly. “But you already knew that.”

Another flinch and Ed rubbed the back of his neck. “Guessed,” he admitted. Then he looked up. “If you don’t, you’re out too, right?”

“Yes.” Simple. Blunt. Unvarnished.

“So what do we do, Greg?” Because breaking up the team…Ed couldn’t do it. Somehow, he knew Greg couldn’t do it, either. That choice…it _literally_ wasn’t an option.

For a long moment, Greg was silent. Then the corners of his mouth tipped upwards. “You’re going to come up with some unofficial punishment. But before _that_ , _they_ get to tell the whole team what they’ve been doing behind our backs.”

Worry glinted. “How do you figure to keep Toth from overhearing them tell us?”

Amusement met his eyes. “They’re going to do it _here_ , Eddie.”

* * * * *

The two constables lay next to each other, thrilling in their stolen moments – moments when they _knew_ their Sergeant couldn’t spy on them, intentionally or accidentally. Sam nuzzled into Jules’ neck. “One more?” he breathed.

“Just one,” she agreed. They _did_ have work in the morning.

Excitement built between the pair, then, without warning, the ardor faded into bone-crushing _exhaustion_. _Sleep_ , their bodies demanded. _Rest_. Their minds turned to mush, coated in nothing save the intense desire to just _sleep_.

“Sam?” Jules mumbled, her eyelids drooping and her head suddenly too heavy to lift.

A snore was her only reply, then slumber took her.

* * * * *

Sam blinked, registering Jules’ presence right beside him as they stood in the empty atrium of the barn. Hadn’t they just been in her bed…? His mind skittered away, dragging his attention to a dozen different spots in the room; by the time he was done looking around, his train of thought had vanished entirely.

“Briefing room, you two.” Ed stood in the briefing room’s doorway, a forbidding expression on his face and arms crossed. “Something we need to talk about.”

The constables obeyed, a touch of furtive anxiety surfacing as they entered the room and watched the steel barrier drop. Inside, the pair moved apart, doing their best to keep from drawing attention to their couple-dom, just in case anyone _besides_ Ed was watching.

The team leader surveyed them, blue eyes as hard as granite. “So…you haven’t slipped up. Yet.”

“We won’t,” Sam retorted. “As long as you keep quiet, no one has to know about me ‘n’ Jules.”

One brow arched. “Not even Greg? Shouldn’t he know you two are putting his job on the line?”

“Wait, _his_ job?” Jules demanded. “Ed, what are you talking about?”

The second brow joined the first. “Don’t play dumb with me, Jules. Greg’s the Sarge; what happens on this team is _his_ responsibility, even if you two _are_ sneaking around behind his back.” A pause. “Word not having his annual physical, that was on Greg. You two hooking up the first time, that was on Greg. You two hooking up the _second_ time, that’s on him, too.”

Sam fought the urge to shuffle his feet at the other man’s acid tone. “So what’s your point?”

For an instant, Ed was silent. Then a voice came from behind them. “You’re going to tell your teammates what you’ve been up to.”

The sniper whirled, jaw dropping at the sight of his boss. Beside him, Jules gasped.

The Boss gave them a disappointed look. “And for the _record_ , I knew. I didn’t want to believe it, but I _knew_.”

“Then why not say something, Sarge?” Jules asked, her voice the merest whisper.

Disappointment deepened. “Because, _Julianna_ , then I’d have to kick both of you off the team.”

Panic engulfed him. Fear strangled his airway, terror closed a vice around his chest, and Sam felt himself start to sweat and shake at the _thought_ of leaving his team. Of never being able to come _back_. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jules’ own terror, her fear ripping her apart from the inside out.

Promises to break up with Jules, to never even _glance_ at her again, rose up, but Sam couldn’t speak the words. His soul keened despair, his life torn to shreds right in front of his eyes. Shaking, rocking; breath coming quicker and quicker as the conflict threatened to shatter him.

“Sam, breathe!” Ed’s hand on the back of his head, shoving him down; he felt himself collapse into a chair as the older man coached him through the next breath and the next…and the one after that. Minutes passed, the sniper’s heart rate slowing by millimeters as his team leader stayed with him, forcing him through rookie breathing tactics and checking his pulse every minute or so. When Sam could look up again, he spied Jules in a second chair, the Sarge hovering over her much as Ed hovered over him.

“Greg. What was that?” Ed didn’t turn away as he voiced the question and Sam flicked a cautious look up, wondering what the team leader was talking about.

“I don’t know, Ed.”

“They both had panic attacks,” the team leader pointed out evenly. “As soon as you said you’d have to kick them off the team.”

“I noticed, Eddie.” Sarge’s tone was dry with sarcasm, but Sam caught an edge of consideration underneath it. Abruptly, the stocky man stood up. “Ed, a word?”

Ed’s expression turned confused, but he gamely trailed after their boss. As the two headed to another corner of the briefing room, Sam turned towards his girlfriend. “Jules?”

Jules hugged herself, grief in her eyes. “Sam, I can’t lose them,” she whispered. “I _can’t_.”

Neither could he. Suddenly, the _team_ was _the_ most important thing in the world to him. His breath, his lifeblood, his be all and end all. To lose them… He winced, feeling the edges of panic once more. The dire _certainty_ that to lose the _team_ was to lose _himself_. His very soul.

A shout drew them around; Sam’s jaw dropped, eyes bulging at the sight of _Ed_ in a full blown panic attack. Sarge hauled the other man to a briefing room chair, shaking his head to keep his other two constables in their seats. Once down, Sarge crouched, talking to Ed in a low, intent tone, but it still took a full ten minutes before the team leader was coherent again. Ten minutes during which Sarge’s expression turned dark, foreboding, and furious.

Before any of the three constables could press for an explanation, Sarge straightened, his head whipping towards the atrium. Out loud, he snapped, “Team meeting, _now!_ ”

Sam gasped as something inside him _pulled_ , _demanding_ his instant obedience and response. Jules’ eyes widened as if _she_ could feel it, too. And Ed reached out, grabbing Sarge’s wrist, his own expression twisting with that _same_ feeling.

* * * * *

Spike and Lou, in an attempt to get their minds off their Sergeant’s condition, had dug out some of the bomb tech’s older video games and the pair was in the midst of going head to head in a no-holds-barred, winner-takes-all _Mario Kart 64_. Spike grinned as his Bowser rounded the track for the third lap, easily fending off Lou’s Yoshi.

“That all you got, Lou?”

Lou smirked, adjusting his course. “Maybe…” he drawled, _right_ as Yoshi hit the ramp for the track shortcut. Less than thirty seconds later, Yoshi was celebrating as Bowser groaned and shook his fist in helpless defeat.

Sighing at the loss, Spike slumped down, earning a surprisingly understanding look. Concentration was nonexistent – for _both_ of them. Even game tricks from the N64 era were beyond the bomb tech.

“Want to go again?” Lou offered after a minute of silence.

Before he could shake his head in reply, Spike felt himself yawn. A wave of relaxed contentment swept over him, warming him from head to toe and sending him sinking down on the carpet. A part of his mind blearily suggested moving to his bed, but then a second wave of _intense_ relaxation crashed down, pulling him under before he could even twitch.

Beside him, Lou also slumped down, ending up lying against his best friend as he, too, was sucked down into instant sleep, mind and body surrendering the battle without so much as a flicker of resistance.

Neither man was aware of Spike’s mother coming in, shaking her head in affection as she coaxed their game controllers away, shut down the console, turned off the TV, and retrieved blankets and pillows for her son and his friend.

* * * * *

Wordy was in bed, trying to read a book and _not_ think about his boss, when he had a sense of _something_ in the air. He glanced up and around, searching for whatever was wrong, then a pleasant buzz swept through him. The big constable felt his body react, relaxing and sinking down; for an instant, panic moved through him. Not even a heartbeat later, sheer _contentment_ engulfed him and he _wanted_ sleep so badly, he could _taste_ it.

Closing his eyes elicited a moan of pleasure; rolling over and feeling sleep come was nothing less than pure _bliss_.

* * * * *

Fury pulsed because he could finally _sense_ what he’d missed before. What he’d overlooked, what he’d flat out _ignored_ because he _hadn’t wanted to know_. He had to stay angry, because if he didn’t…then he’d curl in on himself and never wake up, _ever_ again, for the shame of what he’d done to _his_ team, to _his_ people. All unknowing, but that didn’t pardon it. Didn’t excuse it.

He knew why Sam and Jules had panicked. Why Eddie had panicked. Why Spike, Wordy, and Lou _would_ panic if they found out how close the team was to falling apart. And the worst of it was, Greg had _no_ idea what any of them could’ve done _differently_. How any of them could’ve _avoided_ this situation.

No, that was a lie. He knew how they could’ve avoided this situation. The only trouble was…if they _had_ …then he would’ve died over two years ago. And…and maybe he _should_ have. Then they wouldn’t _be_ here. They wouldn’t be captive to his every order, his every _whim_.

His magic wouldn’t have… A sob threatened as his mind refused to think the words. But he had to, he _had_ to.

His magic wouldn’t have _enslaved_ them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your author needs prayer and that's a severe understatement. As I write this, I am signing onto my work computer's VPN and I'm technically several hours late, but I bloody well don't _care_ because yesterday I was up from 5 AM to 1 AM. Yes, you read that right and although not all of that was work, enough of it was that I am desperate, miserable, and fed up! I did not sign on to work at all hours of the day and night, nor did I agree to be their _slave_. If this is what it means to be respected and noticed, I'd rather be despised and left in a corner.
> 
> So please, pray for me and my coworkers. I'm not sure how much longer I can take working 10-12+ hour days with hardly any time to get up and walk around, much less exercise or do anything for myself (like writing).


	5. We've Got to Stop Meeting Like This

“Briefing room, now.”

Three men blinked at the order from their Sergeant, but obediently trailed into the room, somehow unsurprised to see their remaining teammates already present. Wordy traded a grin with Ed – the Sarge was _back_ – while Lou and Spike snatched the chairs next to Jules and Sam, their own glee evident.

The glee faded when Parker paced back and forth, his expression going darker and darker the longer he paced. Dread trickled in and Wordy cast a confused glance at his best friend – what on _Earth_ was wrong? Ed shook his head in equal confusion and his eyes narrowed as they swept over the Boss.

Abruptly, the team leader stood and moved right into their Sergeant’s path. “Greg. What’s wrong?”

The stocky man halted, anguish racing across his features as he gazed up at his taller, leaner subordinate. A hundred other emotions chased the anguish, all of them negative, if unreadable. Then Parker turned to the rest of them, misery aging him a decade. “We have a problem.”

“Problem?” Jules echoed. “What problem?”

Softly, their boss countered, “Hands up if you think you could transfer off this team if you _needed_ to.”

The room froze, panic stirring inside them at the very _thought_ of leaving Team One. “Why?” Lou managed to croak out. “Why would we even _want_ to leave?”

“That’s not the question I asked, Constable Young.” Sarge’s voice was firm, but aching sorrow underlaid every word. “Hypothetical scenario. If you _needed_ to transfer off this team – health, family issues, moving out of Toronto – could you _do_ it?”

Stark terror blanketed the constables – to _leave_ their team, it was unthinkable, unimaginable. _Leave_ their everything, their very reason for _living_? Their minds rebelled, leaving every last one of them a shaking, quaking mass of helpless fear. The more they thought of _leaving_ , the worse it got, a destructive, endless cycle.

“All right, enough. Stop thinking about it and calm down.”

Their Sergeant’s words cut through the panic and they felt themselves _obey_ , _eagerly_ dropping that awful, horrid thought; their bodies calmed without conscious thought, leaving them content, relaxed – and still wondering what the problem was.

“Greg? What’s your point?” Ed asked cautiously.

Disbelief blazed and Parker jerked back, horror flashing. “You just _obeyed_ me without even thinking about it and you don’t think _that’s_ a problem?” he demanded. “You don’t think having panic attacks over the _thought_ of leaving Team One is a _problem_?”

“Why would it be?” Spike asked casually, leaning back in his seat; his teammates nodded firm agreement with this point. “We trust you, Sarge.”

“Trust is one thing, Spike; me _violating_ your free will is quite _another_.”

“But you’re not,” Wordy argued at once. “I think I’d notice if you were using the _Imperius_ on me, Sarge.” Shrugging, he added, “We trust you, Sarge. You wouldn’t tell us to do something if it weren’t important.”

“You won’t hurt us,” Jules agreed. “ _I_ don’t see a problem; we _trust_ you, Boss. It’s not like I’d want to leave Team One any way.”

“You cannot be _serious_ ,” the Boss blurted. “You can’t _want_ me to have this kind of control over you; it’s _wrong_.”

“Doesn’t feel wrong,” Sam countered, one shoulder lifting. “Feels kinda nice, actually.”

To Parker’s shock and no small amount of utter _fury_ , the rest of his team agreed.

“You should do it more,” Ed opined, a tiny smile appearing.

“More.” The Sergeant’s voice was dangerously flat and calm, a sure sign he was _beyond_ enraged.

“Get used to it,” Sam remarked, a tiny grin of his own peeking through. “Maybe the more you use it, the more you’ll get it. We trust you; I’d follow _any_ order you gave me.”

“Same,” Lou agreed. “We _trust_ you, Sarge.”

Wordy cleared his throat, noting their boss’s simmering temper. “Sarge, whatever this is, can’t have been going on for long.”

Parker arched a brow. “What makes you say that, Wordy?”

The constable shrugged. “I didn’t panic when I spent a week in Guns ‘n’ Gangs.” Brightening, Wordy added, “But seriously, Sarge. We _trust_ you; you _won’t_ hurt us. And Sam’s got a point. This _feels_ right, like it should’ve been this way all along.”

Frustration shone. “I should _not_ be able to give any of you an order that you _can’t_ disobey. That is _wrong_ ; that violates you worse than the ‘team sense’ _ever_ did.”

“How?” Ed questioned, his expression perfectly reasonable. “We trust you, Greg; nothing’s changed there. You can just put a little more behind your orders, that’s all.”

“Magically influencing you to the point that you have a panic attack at the thought of leaving Team One is _nothing_?”

“You can just tell us to calm down again,” Lou suggested cheerfully.

“I can… _Are you serious?_ ” Throwing up his hands, Parker shook his head, thinking hard. Abruptly, he looked up at Ed. “Did the gryphon give you any orders?”

The team leader shifted uncomfortably, but nodded confirmation.

“Was it right after I lost control that last time?”

“Yeah, it was,” Sam breathed, sitting up. “Why, Boss?”

Their boss gave them a mirthless, thin-lipped smile. “Because, Sam, that’s when the gryphon got the ‘team sense’ away from me.”

For an instant, all the constables squirmed. “You think it got tainted?” Ed asked, voicing what all of them were thinking, but none of them wanted to say.

“Yeah, Eddie, I do. I think those few minutes are why all of you are having panic attacks and aren’t reacting to the idea that _I can control you_.”

“We _trust_ you,” Ed argued back immediately. “You _won’t_ hurt us, Greg; we _know_ that.”

The Sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to give you orders?”

“Sure, Boss,” Spike instantly chirped, eagerness fairly radiating from the bomb tech; an eagerness his teammates shared as they leaned forward, waiting for the order they could _feel_ was coming.

Hazel narrowed further. “Then here’s my order. Before I wake up in the next day or so, _all_ of you _will_ go to a Healer and ask them to check you for tainted magic. If that Healer finds _any_ and I do mean _any_ tainted magic, you _will_ obey the Healer’s orders as if they were _my own_.” For a beat, the order hung. “Is that understood?”

The commands sank into them, wrapping around them, heart, mind, and soul; they couldn’t have disobeyed if they’d tried. Moreover, as the magic took effect, any desire to disobey evaporated, their minds automatically incorporating the orders and adjusting their thoughts to the point that they couldn’t even _think_ about disobeying. A distant part of their souls objected, but was quickly dampened and smothered until they _wanted_ to get themselves checked out and confirmed to be free of tainted magic. If that would please their Sergeant, all the better.

* * * * *

Greg’s heart was heavy as he watched his magically enforced orders take full effect on his team. He hated the situation, hated _himself_ for using their weakness against them, but… If he was right, maybe, maybe, _maybe_ , they could still be freed from this. He could hope for that at least. But time was short and running shorter – the team meeting might’ve run off the rails, but it needed to get back on track and quickly if he was going to relay all the information they needed before he woke up.

So he glanced over at Eddie, tilting his head towards Jules and Sam in silent order. The team leader smirked, moving forward. “So,” he began, “just one more thing before Boss gives us the rundown.”

The secret couple paled as they realized what was coming, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

“And what’s that, Ed?” Wordy asked, gaze and voice so _innocent_ that none of his teammates were fooled.

Ed’s smirk widened. “Sam? Jules? Something you want to _share_ with us?”

The taunt was not a request and both of its targets knew it. Jules swallowed harshly and forced her response out. “Sam…Sam and I…we’re back together.”

“In violation of protocol,” Wordy observed acidly; Spike and Lou stiffened, the shock rapidly giving way to anger of their own. The team’s backup team leader shook his head, rising to his feet to tower over his seated victims. “I’d ask how long, but I don’t think I _want_ to know,” the furious man spat. “Anything _else_ you wanna _backstab_ us with?”

Jules reeled and Sam sputtered. “What’ve _we_ ever done to _you_ , Wordy?” the blond demanded.

“Oh, never mind that _Toth_ could break us up in an _instant_ if he ever gets so much as a _whiff_ of you two.” Sarcasm rang. “Let’s talk about if _we’re_ in the field and _you two_ get split up; whose back are you gonna be watching?”

“Our teammate’s back, Wordy,” Jules replied, meeting angry gray steadily.

“Any other rules you wanna break?” Spike questioned snidely. “Gotta wonder, if you won’t obey _that_ part of SRU protocol, what _else_ are you gonna skip over?”

“We love each other,” Sam argued back. “Why should we have to sacrifice that?”

“It’s not about love or sacrifice,” Lou intervened quietly. “It’s about doing the right thing, even if it hurts. Even if it rips you to shreds.”

“The people we _protect_ rely on us to do what they can’t,” Wordy agreed. “Priority of Life.”

“We haven’t broken it,” Jules retorted.

“Yet.” All eyes swiveled to their Sergeant. “It only takes once, Jules. One slipup and you two will spend the rest of your lives wondering if it could’ve been different.” Hazel swirled with old shadows. “Wishing you could’ve done something to prevent it.”

“It’s one thing to live with a bad call where you know you did everything you could,” Ed murmured.

“It’s another when you know you should’ve done better, but you were off your game that day,” Wordy finished.

The couple drew together, half-defeated and half-defiant, but no further attacks, aside from their teammates’ betrayed expressions, were launched. Instead, their boss glanced to his team leader.

“Okay,” Ed announced. “Sam, you will be doing _all_ of the paperwork for the next three months, minus signatures – signatures go to me or the Boss. Jules, for the same three months, you’ll be maintaining all our guns, except personal sidearms, by _yourself_. You’ll also be keeping the equipment cage in tiptop shape, again, by _yourself_ unless Wordy decides otherwise.”

“After three months, this will be done,” Parker tacked on. “No more unofficial punishment, no more free-for-alls with you two as verbal punching bags. It will _not_ come up again, understood?” As he spoke the final sentence, he swept his gaze around the briefing room, making it clear the order wasn’t _just_ for Sam and Jules. Returning his attention to the couple, he added, “As a final punishment, for the next nine hot calls, the two of you will not be paired together; I don’t want you in the same _truck_ unless circumstances dictate otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Sarge.”

“Lastly, this team _relies_ on being able to trust each other – a trust you’ve just violated and destroyed. I _expect_ the two of you to work hard on rebuilding that trust for however long that takes.”

Both constables nodded miserably, painfully aware of the hurt and anger radiating from their fellow constables.

After a beat and a second visual sweep of the room, Greg moved on. “All right, we’re running short on time, so let’s stick with the high points. Eddie? I’ve been out a day?”

“That’s right, Boss,” Ed confirmed. “According to Travis, you’re in bad shape. The magic’s tainted all the way through and it’s trying to collapse your magical core. They gave you a dose of Draught of the Living Death to keep you under and I think they started administering the Cleansing Potion late last night.”

“Two more days, at least, until they’ll even let you start waking up,” Wordy interjected. “They might even have to call in goblin Healers to get your magic cleansed.”

The Sergeant absorbed the information with a nod. “All right then, looks like you’ll have a couple days to get used to what I’m about to tell you.”

Curious glances were exchanged between the constables before they focused back on their boss attentively.

Turning to face his team, Greg felt a smile cross his face. “First off, as you probably already guessed, the ‘team sense’ isn’t going anywhere. _However_ , it’s now going to be two way and it _usually_ won’t be sending me your emotions anymore.”

“It won’t?” Wordy asked, startled.

“So what _will_ it send?” Lou questioned shrewdly.

“No, Wordy, no more emotions unless they’re ‘extreme’, whatever that means. Lou, I’ll still be able to tell, roughly, where all of you are and I’ve been told that all of _you_ will be able to ‘borrow’ my gryphon traits through the anchors. Well…they’re more like links now, I guess.”

“What, like hearing and vision?” Sam inquired, eyes lighting up.

A nod. “Exactly, Sam. It might be…overwhelming…at first and I’d recommend short bursts only, but go ahead and give it a shot.”

“Not till you’re back on your feet, Greg,” Ed decreed, glaring at their teammates until they agreed with his order. Then he turned back to his boss. “What else, Greg?”

Another smile appeared. “I’ve got one more thing to deal with and then my magic will be back under my control; for good this time.” The smile widened. “One last thing.” Glancing pointedly in the bomb tech’s direction, he said, “I’m sure we all remember when Spike and Wordy went missing and Giles was able to pick up magical signatures for _both_ of them.”

Sam got it first. “Wait a sec, we _all_ have magic now?” he blurted.

“That would be correct, Mr. Braddock,” Greg confirmed cheerfully. Skewering his four formerly pure techies with a glance, he added firmly, “Don’t get any ideas – it’s really not that much, plus none of you have magical cores any way.”

“So just magical signatures?” Jules asked, slightly disappointed.

“For the most part,” Parker replied quietly. “It might be enough to give all of you a bit more…resistance.” A rueful glint peeked out from hazel orbs. “Wizards are tough.”

“They can take more of a hit,” Sam interjected.

“That would be correct,” Greg agreed. He thought for a minute, frowning at the floor, then glanced up. “That’s all the highlights; we can talk more once I’m back on my feet.”

“Wait, Sarge, what about that last thing you gotta deal with?” Wordy asked.

The Sergeant fidgeted. “It’s just my gryphon form, Wordy,” he explained. “One last smack down.”

“Okay, who wants to see that one?” Spike asked, raising his hand; his teammates instantly copied him.

“You all have work in the morning,” Greg protested, but when his team shot him pleading looks, he relented.

* * * * *

Greg wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected to see, but a pitch black version of himself with glowing yellow eyes wasn’t it. A shudder worked its way down his back as he stared at the thing. It grinned, a feral, deranged grin, and shifted, bringing both hands up. Shadows surrounded those hands, forming misty claws that Greg knew were just as deadly as the real thing.

“You can’t beat me.” Smug. Arrogant.

Stuffing his fear down, Greg cocked a brow at the thing.

A low growl rumbled forth. “You might be the soul, but _I_ am the power,” the shadow spat. “ _You_ are weak, indecisive; _you_ would _sacrifice_ _my_ Pride, _letting_ them _leave_ me.”

His chin came up. “You took away their freedom to choose; I’m just giving it back. Forcing someone to stay isn’t right; it’s selfish, callous, and cruel. A forced choice is no choice at all – I want a _team_ , not a bunch of human robots.”

His other self snarled and lunged, but Greg wasn’t afraid any more. He let the other push him down, even let the Shade raise its claws. Then he helped it over his head with a backwards heave and _shove_ with his boots; it yowled as it flew into a handy tree. Twisting and rolling back to his feet; Greg closed with the shadow, grabbing its wrists before it could slash at him.

Hazel met twisted yellow.

“They are _mine!_ ”

“They deserve to _choose_ for _themselves!_ ”

It howled outrage, wrenching free and hurling him down; furious, it drove at him, claws angling for his face. Greg threw himself sideways at the last instant, razor shadows missing him by millimeters. It snarled, yanking its hands free and grabbing him; in one fluid move, the Shade hurled him into the same tree he’d thrown _it_ into. His back screamed as he fell; panting, he stared at the thing, realization dawning.

“You’re me,” he whispered, ignoring the part of himself that wailed denial.

Twisted yellow sparkled with vicious glee. “Figured it out, did you?”

With grim determination, Greg pushed himself up, stalking towards his other half. “You’re every bit of darkness inside of me,” he hissed. “You’re the part of me that only cares about _not being alone_ , no matter who gets hurt.”

“I’m what makes you strong.”

“No.” Staring right into shadows, staring right into the heart of who he could’ve become, Greg shook his head. “You see people as pawns, tools to be used at _your_ whim and discarded when you’re done. You called my team by their _colors_ and _never_ by their names; you didn’t even dignify them as _human_. The only _value_ they had in your eyes is what they could give _you_ ; you only _protected_ them because you _felt_ like it.”

The Shade snorted. “Love is for children. I can give you _real_ power.”

Greg started back. Love. Did he… _love_ …his team? Friends, yes, always, but _love_? The final pieces clicked into place – yes…yes, he _did_. Not _romantic_ love, but that wasn’t the only kind of love. Familial love, sacrificial love – _that_ felt right. Family that you chose, that chose _you_ in return. Family that you would do _anything_ to protect.

The stocky man shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he whispered. “Love makes the world go ‘round; whatever power you _think_ you have pales in comparison to _that_.” Tilting his chin up again, he added, “You think you got me, come and _get_ me.”

Darkness curled, yellow blazed with fury, with hate, with _vengeance_. Blackness turned even darker, the tainted yellow swirling and utterly untamed. Snarling, his evil twin charged – and he stood stock still, a tiny smile peeking out as the other lunged. His team yelled alarm, but Greg never twitched. Closer and closer, a runaway freight train, but still he waited, calm and unconcerned.

It struck him full in the chest, howling as it bowled him over, claws slashing at him, but still he didn’t fight back; even as the claws sank into his chest, angling for his heart, he didn’t fight back.

“Everything you are,” it raged, “Body and mind and soul. I will take it _all_ and _no one_ can stop me!”

“No, you won’t,” Greg whispered, raising both hands and grabbing the Shade’s arms. “You’re me.”

As his fingers closed around the Shade’s arms, magic roared around them, turning the world scarlet. When it was over, the Shade was gone, Greg’s clothing was unmarked, and his team had disappeared.

Groaning, Greg let his head sag down to the ground behind him. He was alone. It was what he deserved; when they were free, he _fully_ anticipated all of them scattering, leaving him just as fast as they could go. After what he’d done to them, he couldn’t blame them, couldn’t even muster a flicker of resentment for what he _knew_ was coming.

Utter abandonment. Being _alone_ for the _rest_ of his life.

And that was the worst fate of all.


	6. Victory and Defeat

Ed Lane was halfway through his shower when the memories came back, right along with his Sergeant’s order; the lean man reeled, nearly collapsing as the commands pressed in on him, wrapping around him so tightly, he _swore_ he saw chains for a split second. Then his head came up, determination filling him. He needed to get checked out by a Healer for tainted magic. Right now.

Sophie knocking on the bathroom door recalled him to sanity and he hid behind the shower curtain, flushing at the realization of how close he’d been to running out without so much as a _towel_. “Yeah?” he called, turning the water to cold in hopes of shocking himself a bit more awake.

“Eddie, Wordy’s on the phone.”

_Word?_ Poking his head out, Ed called, “Tell him I’ll call him back in ten.”

He heard Sophie murmur and move away from the door; ducking back under the water, Ed calculated just how _quickly_ he could finish his shower and get dressed.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, Ed dialed his cell phone with one hand while he tried to finish buckling his belt with the other. Grimacing, he hit the speaker icon and set the phone down to use both hands.

“Ed?”

“Here, Word.”

“I, uh…”

The team leader swallowed a snigger. “St. Mungo’s?” he filled in. “ASAP?”

“Ah…yeah…” There was a brief pause. “Kinda surprised he’s making such a big deal out of it.”

Ed nodded agreement. “I hear ya, Word. We _trust_ him, it’s no big deal. But if the Sarge wants us to get checked out…”

“We get checked out,” Wordy finished.

* * * * *

When Healer Travis froze, gaping at the diagnostic spell results in horror, the team had their answer. The Boss had been right – as usual. Ed took the lead. “So what’s the plan?”

Without a word, Travis swept out, returning minutes later with a box of potions. “One Cleansing Potion for each of you,” she instructed. “Do _not_ take them now; take them _right_ before you go to bed and make sure you won’t have to drive for at least ten hours afterwards.”

The fresh orders sank in, taking affect even as she spoke, piggy-backing on the Boss’s command that they treat the Healer’s orders as if they’d been _his_ orders. To disobey was literally unthinkable, but the team, still being influenced by the tainted magic in their veins, saw absolutely no problem at all with their situation.

To Travis’ further concern, none of the team thought to ask her how their Sergeant was doing as they collected the prescribed potions and departed.

* * * * *

For Ed, the day passed in a daze, his whole being focusing on the orders constantly running through his mind, leaving him unable to think about much of anything else. He knew, vaguely, that the same was true for his teammates, but he was unable to regard the situation as anything to be concerned about. The Boss gave him orders and he followed them. Simple.

At home, he was able to shake off the haze enough to keep Sophie from becoming concerned, though his fussing over Izzy was more automatic than anything else. Passing off the potion as a precautionary measure in light of the tainted magic the Healer had found, Ed was able to retreat to bed a full hour and a half earlier than normal. He felt no guilt for the lies, nor the way he’d breezed over the tainted magic, letting Sophie _assume_ the tainted magic was in _Greg_ , not himself.

In the bedroom, blue eyes fixed on the potion bottle hungrily, his entire being _demanding_ its contents. Without even getting undressed beyond taking his boots off, Ed drained the bottle in two gulps, sighing in pleasure at the way his body relaxed after obeying the order he’d been living with all day. After a few moments, he registered that his body was relaxing even more, warmth sweeping through him and tugging him down.

Flopping down on his bed, Ed rolled on his back and waited for sleep to take him. His body continued to relax, sinking down in the mattress until he felt…disconnected. Unable to move; his mind remaining awake even as his body slept. Sleep. He wanted it, he _needed_ it, but… His mind raced, darting hither and yon, refusing to grant him release.

* * * * *

Kilometers away, another man shifted briefly on his hospital bed, so deeply asleep that nothing should’ve been able to touch him. Even so, without waking, he mumbled, “Take the stupid potions, guys, and go to sleep.”

* * * * *

In five homes across Toronto, the order instantly took effect; the constable already in bed finally relaxed into full slumber and those still awake immediately headed for bed, taking the Cleansing Potions without even thinking about it.

* * * * *

Tash hissed hatefully as he crept into the room, glaring balefully at the man on the bed. He would not win, the _cat_ would not win – no, he, _Tash_ , would claim ultimate victory in this battle. The dark one did not have long to wait; his servant entered the room, a vicious glint in the Healer’s eyes.

The man darted a glance at the door, then turned to the guardian, setting two potions down on the bedside table. Two Switching Spells did the job, placing the potions directly into the guardian’s stomach; in less than a minute, the guardian moaned in his sleep as the magic inside him went haywire.

The links, invisible to all save Tash, lit up, jammed wide by the potion of Tash’s own design; neither the guardian nor his pitiful sycophants would be able to close the links for a full seven days, _more_ than enough time for his plan to work. Already, the links were expanding to deal with the increasing magical flow, sending more and more of the guardian’s magic into his sycophants. Inside of a day, their bodies would grow accustomed to the increase in power. Inside of _two_ , they would become _addicted_ to that power flow, physically dependant on the guardian’s magic to the point that even a _momentary_ interruption would be…catastrophic. _Leaving_ the guardian would be utterly out of the question when weekly, nay, _daily_ contact was imperative.

Resentment, betrayal, hatred; Tash delighted in the scenarios playing out before him, as unstoppable as Time itself.

* * * * *

Ed stirred, then groaned as his alarm went off. Huffing under his breath, he rolled over, smacking the device off before crawling off the bed. Inspecting himself, he made a face – he’d _really_ been out of it to not even take his clothes off the night before. Grumbling under his breath, the bald man retrieved fresh clothing and headed for the shower, doing his best to ignore the writhing in his gut.

Once safely inside the bathroom, he shut the door and sank back against the wood, guilt and chagrin warring for dominance inside of him. Had he _really_ been _stupid_ enough to argue that it was no big deal that Greg _could control them_? Delusional enough to _want_ that state of affairs to continue? For an entire _day_ , he’d lived that reality – and he’d _wanted_ that.

Thank _Aslan_ that Greg had known better. Thank _Aslan_ that Greg had _refused_ to let the situation persist – he could’ve, easily. Ed’s insides squirmed – Greg could’ve let it keep going and none of them would’ve argued with him. By the _Lion_ , they’d been _happy_ to be like that, _happy_ to follow the Boss’s orders without even _thinking_ about it. So influenced, so deluded, it _literally_ couldn’t have occurred to them that something was _wrong_ , _wrong_ , _wrong_.

After a minute, the team leader sighed to himself and straightened. At least he was back to normal now, although… For some reason, he felt very…jittery. As if he’d had three or four cappuccinos back to back. And he wanted to do…something.

But what?

* * * * *

As soon as the diagnostic spell finished, Ed started pacing, unable to keep still; his blood felt like it was on fire – not painfully, just demanding motion and movement and something he couldn’t quite articulate. Healer Travis eyed him out of the corner of her eye then shrugged and turned back to her parchment, inspecting the results of her test.

Ed ranged around the room, feeling closed in and caged; he wanted _out_ , to be in the forest, feeling the wind whistle past him, dancing through the clouds… He jerked to a halt – where had _that_ come from? A shiver worked its way up his spine…was he…was he feeling _Greg’s_ emotions?

A gasp brought him around with a snap. “What’s wrong?”

Susan Travis stared between him and her parchment, eyes wide with fear and horror. When she whipped around and raced out the door, he followed, keeping pace as she ran for his boss’s room. Inside, Greg lay still on the bed, on his back in the standard recovery position, but there was a grimace of pain that hadn’t been there before and, even asleep, his fingers were twitching, scarlet sparks materializing with each jerk, fidget, and twitch. Even before the Healer’s wand danced over the slumbering man, Ed knew something was very, very wrong.

Susan took one look at the results of her second diagnostic spell and swore colorfully enough to impress a sailor.

Ed flushed bright red as he poked around the room, searching for anything out of place. The potion bottles on the bedside table caught his eye and he frowned. “Susan? When was Greg given two more potions?”

Her head turned, following his gaze. “He shouldn’t have been,” she replied. “I gave him a concentrated dose of Cleansing Potion last night and went home; the night Healers were supposed to monitor his condition and Floo me if something came up before administering anything else. Depending on how he was doing this morning, I was going to decide whether or not to give him a second dose of Draught of the Living Death.”

“I came in first,” Ed concluded, earning a nod. Frown deepening into a scowl, the team leader straightened, letting the full weight of his cop side fall on her. “What’s wrong with Greg?”

Susan didn’t reply immediately; her wand danced over the empty potion bottles, drawing a pensive scowl. “I don’t recognize this one,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Have to send that to research, see if they can analyze what’s left.”

The sniper’s stomach flip-flopped. Greg had been _dosed_ with an _unknown_ potion? The jitters surged up, demanding movement, demanding _something_ , but Ed held still. This was too important. “What’s. Wrong. With. Greg?”

Anguish looked up at him. “I don’t know what _this_ ,” her wand jabbed at one bottle, “is for, but the other one.” Susan crumpled. “It’s a magic booster, the strongest one we keep on hand. We use it for cases of _extreme_ magical exhaustion, but that’s the _last_ thing Sergeant Parker needs.”

“What do you mean? What’s it doing to him?” Ed whirled, pacing around the bed to his boss’s opposite side, one hand finding Greg’s shoulder and squeezing.

“A magic booster works by intensifying the magic in a wizard’s core and increasing the core’s regeneration. That way, an exhausted wizard still has enough magic left to keep them stable while the core recovers. It can be like using steroids, so they’re banned on the dueling circuit.” Susan shook her head grimly. “Parker’s magic is already unstable; his core is rebuilding itself – how, I haven’t a clue – but it can’t _take_ stress like this, Constable Lane. Not now and probably not for the next six months, at _least_.”

“But that doesn’t matter, does it?” Ed mused, his expression just as grim as hers.

“No,” she agreed softly. “His core is reacting to the booster; it’s generating magic faster than he can use it and what magic is already _there_ …” She trailed off miserably, meeting his eyes. “It’s our strongest, which means it’s going to last for _days_ , possibly as long as a week, depending on how well it was brewed.”

It made sense, it all made sense except… “Wait, how’d you know something was wrong with Greg from the diagnostic you did on _me_?”

Without a word, she laid the parchment with his diagnostic results out on Greg’s chest; his jaw dropped. Without a magical core, her diagnostic showed a silhouette of himself – a silhouette that practically _glowed_ scarlet.

“The taint?” he managed.

“It’s gone, that much I can tell, Constable Lane, but yesterday, taint or no taint, your silhouette was tinted yellow, not scarlet.”

Chills ran through him. “That…that makes it look like I’m _swimming_ in Greg’s magic.”

“That would be an apt analogy,” Susan agreed. “If this keeps up, Constable Lane, by tomorrow, you’ll be _addicted_ to his magic.”

The chills were getting worse. “Addicted?”

Her nod was solemn. “I honestly don’t know what that will mean for you, Constable Lane, but it won’t be anything good. Get your teammates in here as quickly as you can; if they’re in a similar position…”

“Wait, slow down.” Ed glanced between the results and his best friend. “Greg’s core is going crazy, right? Generating magic like it’s going out of style?”

“That’s correct.”

“And the magic he already had – it’s going crazy, too, right?”

Susan nodded agreement. “I imagine you can feel it – it would explain why you could barely hold still long enough for the diagnostic. The magic _wants_ to be used, but you _can’t_ use it, so instead you’re climbing the walls.”

Ed shuddered at the reminder. “So he’s what… _venting_ the magic into _us_?”

The Healer paused, thinking through the idea. “You might be right,” she mused. “Magically, it would work…vent the excess power into reservoirs until the core’s generation slows down and starts depleting its own reserves…” A full body shiver worked its way through her form. “But none of you can handle that, not even your Squib teammates can handle something like that.”

“Anything that _might_ work?” Ed asked hopefully. If they couldn’t stop the magic booster, then maybe they could mitigate the damage.

Fear met his question. “We could try a second night of Cleansing Potion, Constable Lane, but… I can’t make any promises. If this isn’t stopped…”

“I heard you,” Ed interrupted, panic of his own swirling. He didn’t _want_ to be addicted to Greg’s magic, but how could they stop it?

* * * * *

As soon as they were all changed and in the briefing room, Ed lowered the barrier and moved to the head of the table.

“Ed?” Wordy asked, worry flashing in gray eyes.

Instead of responding directly, Ed leaned forward, placing both hands on the briefing table. “Okay, show of hands. Who here feels like they swallowed four cups of coffee and sitting still is driving you crazy?”

His teammates froze, staring at him and instantly picking up on the fact that they had yet _another_ magical problem to deal with. After a beat, Ed raised his own hand, unsurprised when everyone else followed suit.

“Ed, what’s wrong?” Jules asked.

Grim, Ed replied, “Overnight, Sarge got dosed with two potions. One of ‘em, Travis has to figure out what it is and what it did, but the other’s a magic booster. A strong one. Greg’s core is generating more magic than it knows what to do with and the magic that was already _there_ has gone nuts. Working theory is that the core is venting the excess magic any way it can.”

“Into us,” Sam breathed, earning a nod.

“And?” Lou queried, picking up on their team leader’s dark mood.

“Travis thinks if this goes on for more than a day, we’ll end up _addicted_ to Greg’s magic. No idea what the fallout of that’s gonna be.” Closing his eyes, Ed added the _coup de grâce_. “The magic booster’s gonna last about a week.”

“They can’t stop it?” Wordy croaked, newborn terror surfacing and intensifying when Ed shook his head soberly.

The team leader focused on his whole team. “After work, we all head for St. Mungo’s; Travis is going to try another night of Cleansing Potion, see if we can slow this thing down. For today, try and get the basics done. Take breaks when you need to. Workouts, running, anything you need to try to dampen down the jitters. Sam, Jules, if you need help, ask for it; we can’t afford to slip up at this point. Punishment is off till we get this under control.”

The others nodded silently, but Ed could see their fear. It mirrored his own.

* * * * *

Tash rubbed his claws together, gleeful as he regarded the humans. They’d all obediently taken the Cleansing Potion and fallen asleep – the more _fool_ they. The potion included the _delightful_ side effect of opening the drinker even more to outside magical influence – a necessity since the potion was meant to cleanse magic. Ironically, the potion itself meant they would _wake_ addicted to the guardian’s magic. And once addicted, the magic would influence them much as the taint had done. Drawing them deeper and deeper into a cycle of destruction – by the time it was over, he _fully_ expected them to _hate_ each other _and_ the great _cat_.

He had won.


	7. Choose to be Free

Lion paws padded through St. Mungo’s, not a soul stirring or glancing up as He passed, unnoticed and unseen. None would see Him tonight, save those He had business with. His ancient foe had overstepped himself, defying His Father’s command and once more meddling with the Son of Adam’s magic, even more deliberately and defiantly than the first time.

When the Lion reached the Son of Adam’s bedside, He leaned forward, breathing a gold mist onto the sleeping man. The Son of Adam’s hands stilled, the sparks around his fingers dying away; a soft sigh of relief emerged as he rolled onto his side, the magic within him settling and ceasing its frenetic activity. The healing core absorbed His power, obediently flexing outwards by another six millimeters to accommodate the larger store of magic it was now capable of producing.

Aslan rumbled, shaking His mane; the links appeared, pulsing and still expanding with the effects of the core’s frantic venting. A second breath settled onto the links and they, too, stilled. After a moment, their expansion retracted, narrowing towards their original size, but much like the core, they remained larger than originally anticipated by the Shades who’d painstakingly crafted the ritual to repair the Son of Adam’s magical core.

Amber eyes studied the links, then He inclined His head in approval. The Son of Adam’s own would not become addicted to their leader’s magic, as His foe had schemed and planned for. His power now shielded both the Son of Adam and the links; any attempt to interfere with or influence the magic would go awry. The links themselves would serve as Tash’s punishment – instead of _binding_ the humans, they would be the source of the Emperor’s Gifts. The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea had _warned_ Tash and he had not listened. The dark one’s decision would cost him dearly, as the Emperor had decreed that _each_ time he unlawfully interfered in _these_ humans’ lives, another boon would be granted to the humans.

They would discover the Gifts in time – the Lion would not spoil the surprise. Turning back to the Son of Adam, he breathed once more on the sleeping form. Beside the Lion, a spirit formed, blinking in surprise to see himself slumbering on the bed. “Greetings, Son of Adam.”

* * * * *

Greg swallowed hard; his last clear memory was of defeating his dark side and realizing his team had disappeared during the fight. After that…had he fallen asleep? He had a vague memory of mumbling an order directed at his teammates and an even vaguer memory of feeling the magic inside him go crazy…

Staring at his own body, he shivered. “Am I dying?”

“No, Son of Adam,” Aslan replied, drawing his eyes around. “But Tash has been quite…busy of late.”

Hazel narrowed. “What has he done to my _team_?” A warning rumble had him tilting his head to the side, exposing his neck, before he could even think about it. Instinct.

“Son of Adam, I tell no one any story but their own,” the Lion replied. “Come. Let us walk and I will explain.”

Even as the Lion turned, the hospital room faded away, replaced by the rolling fields and forests of Narnia. Greg hurried to catch up with his guide, too worried about his teammates to really pay attention to the landscape.

After a few minutes, Aslan turned His head. “I am sure, Son of Adam, that you recall your brief sojourn to the Netherworld.” Greg nodded jerkily, wincing at the mention of the place. “Upon your return, when you discovered the anchors between yourself and your own would remain, do you remember what then followed?”

“I collapsed,” Greg whispered. “Lance…he kept me alive until my team could talk to me, reassure me; they wanted me back even if they _were_ magically tied to me.”

“That is so,” the Lion agreed. “When they accepted the magical bonds, they also accepted _you_ as their king.”

Greg’s jaw dropped open; he skidded to a halt without registering it. “ _King?_ ” he demanded, his voice jumping two octaves. “I’m no _king!_ ” he blurted.

Amusement shone in the great amber eyes that met his. “You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,” Aslan rumbled. “And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. **(1)”** Another rumble shook the air. “In your veins runs the blood of King Frank and Queen Helen, the first King and Queen of Narnia; though the Kings and Queens of Narnia are deemed so by My paw and no other, you have upheld your charge well, Son of Adam.”

“I’m _still_ not a _king_. I didn’t even _know_ what I did to them until now!”

“Have you not led them in every desperate attack? Been the last in every desperate retreat?”

“That’s because I’m their _Sergeant_. Not their _king_.”

“The magic considers you such,” Aslan countered, a forbidding note in His voice. “Call it as you will; the magic that binds them to you considers you their king even as they are your oathsworn vassals.” He shook His mane. “As their king, you may, of course, give them commands, commands they are honor bound to obey.”

Greg swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob with the motion. “So that’s what’s causing it? It wasn’t the tainted magic?”

Sorrow glimmered. “The taint increased the magic’s influence to the point of eliminating their free will; it was well done to insist that they be cleansed of that taint.”

“I used their weakness against them,” Greg whispered, feeling shame burn anew as his eyes dropped to the ground.

“As a king must do from time to time,” the Lion observed. “You wielded your ruthlessness to protect them from themselves, do not feel shame for restoring their free will.”

Greg flushed, wishing Aslan would stop calling him a king. It had been bad enough to be called a lord, without suddenly adding _royalty_ titles to the mix. He was just a police Sergeant.

“The taint is gone, Son of Adam, but some of its effects remain.”

“What effects?”

Aslan studied him a moment. “Tell Me, Son of Adam, when your own were under the taint, what did they emphasize whenever pressed?”

Greg frowned, running over the meeting in his mind. After a moment, he felt his mouth go dry. “They trust me.”

“Precisely. Magic of this nature depends on trust; without trust, it cannot enforce a king’s commands on his vassals.”

“But it shouldn’t overrule their free will,” Greg cried, scrubbing his hands through what was left of his hair.

“Nor does it, Son of Adam,” the Lion confirmed. “In the days before Camelot, it was not unheard of for knights to pledge themselves to their kings in such a fashion.”

“With every word of their vows worked out beforehand, right?” But there _hadn’t_ been any vows, just his team desperate to save him. How had _them_ wanting _him_ to live turned into _this_?

“That is so. The taint strengthened their trust in you to the point that it has become as much a part of them as blood and bone.”

“They trust me so much, they’ll keep on obeying me without even _thinking_ about it?”

A pause, heavy with tension. “So long as they trust you, utterly and completely, you are correct,” Aslan replied. “Because of that trust and how they were bound, they will not even consider as to whether they _wish_ to follow your orders, only how to carry your commands out.”

Greg felt his hands flex open and closed as the horror of it all bore down on him. He _could_ still command them, _could_ still force them to _obey_. The abuse of power that represented…it _sickened_ him. _No_ one should have that power over his team, _least_ of all _him_. Their drunken failure of a Sergeant.

“Let them go,” he begged, looking up at the Lion. “They didn’t know what they were doing, let them go. Give them back their freedom.”

Surprise flitted across the Lion’s muzzle. “You would free them?” He asked. “You would forsake your rightful claim on their allegiance?”

“I want…” He stopped, unsure how to finish his sentence. Closing his eyes against the anguish in his heart and soul, he whispered, “I want them to stay because they _want_ to stay, not because they _have_ to stay. I want _friends_ , not slaves. Not _vassals_.”

“And that, Gregory Parker, is why you are no mere Sergeant.” Aslan’s voice boomed. “I will grant your request. They shall have a choice and each shall choose this night whom he will serve.”

“Sir?”

“But heed my words, Gregory Parker. Should they choose to remain bound to you, you must respect that choice and never again seek to sever that bond.”

Feeling the force of the Lion’s judgment, Greg bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well, Gregory Parker. We shall speak again, but for now…”

Greg looked up, confused.

“Sleep.”

He slept.

* * * * *

The Lion padded into the domain of the Son of Adam and the Daughter of Eve, His gaze flicking between their sleeping forms. Lowering His head, He breathed on the Son of Adam, rousing his spirit from slumber even as the physical body sank deeper into the mattress.

“Greetings, Son of Adam.”

Confusion, instinctive awe, and no small amount of fear gazed back.

“Be at peace, Son of Adam.”

* * * * *

Sam felt his racing heart calm at the command and when he looked in the Lion’s eyes, he _knew_. Not tame, not in the least, but good. Standing straighter, the former soldier resisted the urge to salute. “What can I do for You, Sir?”

The Lion glanced towards his sleeping form and rumbled. A glowing scarlet rope appeared out of thin air, stretched between Sam’s body and its source. The anchor, it had to be.

“A choice has been offered, Son of Adam,” He announced. “You may choose to sever this bond between you and your Sergeant or you may choose to accept it anew.”

Sam froze, staring between the Lion and the glowing anchor. “You mean, You can break it?” Awful hope rang in his voice, right before reason reasserted itself. “Wait, this won’t hurt the Boss, will it?”

“His health will not be affected, Son of Adam,” Aslan replied. “And yes, I can break it, but be warned. Whatever your decision may be this night, it will be _binding_. You can never again choose the other.”

“I have to choose now?” Sam asked, feeling very small and overwhelmed.

“You must choose this night, but you may have as much time as you desire.”

The sniper opted not to ask how _that_ would work and frowned, staring at the anchor thoughtfully. The decision seemed obvious, but there was a part of him that was whispering, saying it wasn’t quite as obvious as he thought. After a few minutes of thinking, he glanced up at the patient Lion. “Could You…could You tell me more? Like, I don’t know…what I’d be giving up if I break this thing?”

Approval glimmered in those deep amber eyes. “I will make a bargain with you, Son of Adam. I will grant you two visions, the first of what My Father will gift you should you choose to keep the bond and the other of what My Father will gift you should you choose to break it.”

Sam nodded, that sounded _perfect_ , just what he needed to decide.

“However…”

The blond stiffened.

“Once you have chosen, I will remove that knowledge, leaving you only the knowledge of your choice and the certainty that it was _truly_ your choice.”

After a minute more of thought, Sam stepped forward. “Deal.”

The Lion breathed on him and he felt himself collapse, ending up on hands and knees as his mind was sucked into the vision. Emotions he couldn’t even _describe_ ran through him as he lived through the Gifts. When the vision ended, he leaned forward, panting and struggling to get his breath back.

Clenching his fists, he looked up, into the second breath. Again, his mind was pulled into the images, emotions running wild through heart and soul as he lived through the other Gifts. This time, he ended up hugging himself, tears running down his face as the vision ended. He wanted them both, he wanted them both so badly he could _taste_ it. But he could only have one.

A sob wrenched free for the world that could have been as he lifted his head a second time.

“Tell Me, Son of Adam, do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

Somehow, he knew what the Lion meant. “I do,” Sam whispered, the weight of that other world dragging him down again. The flat of a sword touched first his left shoulder, then his right, and finally his head. _His_ sword, though how he knew that, he had no idea.

“Then rise, Sir Samuel Braddock, Knight of Narnia.” Humor danced in those words, amusement that grew at the stunned expression on Sam’s face.

Sam pushed himself up, shoulders straightening as the visions vanished from his mind, leaving only the knowledge that he’d _truly_ made his choice. No sooner had he gained his feet, then the Lion breathed on him one last time.

He slept.

* * * * *

Turning from the slumbering knight, Aslan breathed on the Daughter of Eve, rousing her spirit from its rest. As with the Son of Adam, He revealed the bond between her and her king, extending the choice to sever that bond or accept it. When she, too, requested more information, He offered her the same bargain He had offered the other.

* * * * *

Jules bit her lip, not liking the idea of losing any more memories. But… To make a huge, life-changing decision without knowing all the facts… That scared her more. So she stepped forward, meeting the Lion’s amber gaze. “I’ll do it.”

She collapsed bonelessly when He breathed on her, gasping at the vision running through her; her hands reached out, a soundless keen erupting when it ended. No, she needed to see more, to feel more… For several minutes, Jules rocked back and forth, hugging herself in longing for what she’d seen.

Then she looked up, feeling the next vision engulf her in an instant. Her body shook under the force of the emotions running through her, a scream of frustration and _longing_ erupting as the images stopped. Why, why couldn’t she have _both_? Why did she have to choose one and not the other? This choice, it was no choice at all – how could she _choose_ between the futures she’d seen?

Jules wasn’t sure how much time passed as she sat on the ground, crying for what she could never have. Because, really, in the end, she’d already made her choice.

“Tell Me, Daughter of Eve, do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

It was a whisper, but enough. “I do.” Shock ghosted through her when the flat of her own sword touched first her left shoulder, then her right, and finally her head.

“Then rise, Dame Julianna Callaghan, Knight of Narnia.”

She obeyed, too stunned to do otherwise; the visions disappeared, leaving her whole and _knowing_ she’d made the right choice. The Lion’s breath touched her face one final time.

She slept.

* * * * *

From the home of the two newest Knights of Narnia, He traveled on velvet paws to the home of the dark-haired young Son of Adam, a smile curving His muzzle as He slipped into the room; _this_ one had heeded Him well, finally bending enough to gain his father’s approval once more before He had called the father home.

In the Son of Adam’s room, He breathed on the sleeping form, summoning his spirit. A shake of His mane revealed the bond and, for the third time, he presented the choice. Accept the bond or sever it for all time. Once again, He was pleased when the Son of Adam asked if he could know more and extended His bargain.

* * * * *

Spike bit the edge of his thumb, thinking hard. More information, always a good thing in his book. Not getting to _keep_ that information, not so good. Did he _really_ want to make that deal? Or maybe the more important question was: Did he _really_ want to make this decision _without_ that information?

“You won’t take away anything else?”

“I will not, Son of Adam.”

“I’m not gonna wake up short a couple languages, right?”

Sorrow and amusement shone in equal measure. “Son of Adam, I say unto you, I AM and I do not lie.”

He would get no further answer and something about the Lion’s words settled his anxiety. “Okay, then,” Spike said, bracing himself. “Do it.”

He went straight down as the images pulled him in, wrapping around him until _they_ were reality and he was just along for the ride. When the vision faded, he scrabbled for it, wanting it so badly, he could _taste_ it. Reeling and panting, he stared at the ground, letting the rough carpet bring him back to himself.

A minute passed or maybe ten before he lifted his head, the second vision engulfing him just as much as the first had. Just as real, just as desirable, just as much a part of him. He came to curled up on the ground, hugging his chest and panting so hard, he could hear the rasp. Why? Why did he have to choose? Why couldn’t someone else choose? Then he could hate _them_ for choosing, instead of himself. The bomb tech forced himself back to his knees, wanting that much dignity at least. Self-hatred swirled around him, for the choice he’d already made, even as he _longed_ for the other.

“Tell Me, Son of Adam, do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

One answer screamed inside him, but he lifted his head, voicing the opposite. “I do.” The flat of a sword touched left, then right shoulders, ending with a last tap on his head.

“Then rise, Sir Michelangelo Scarlatti, Knight of Narnia.”

The self-hatred evaporated, right along with the visions. Certainty lodged inside him, the certainty that he’d made his choice in full knowledge of the consequences, even if he couldn’t remember those consequences any more. A warm breath touched his face.

He slept.

* * * * *

Again, the Lion padded through the night, unconcerned with the passing time. An apartment complex loomed ahead of Him and He sprang, soaring up to land lightly on the balcony outside the next Son of Adam’s dwelling. He passed through the closed balcony door and slipped through the short hallway to the bedroom.

His breath roused the sleeping man’s spirit, calling him to action. A rumble revealed the bond, right before He presented the choice. Almost immediately, the Son of Adam pressed for more information, leading, of course, to His bargain.

* * * * *

Lou weighed the factors, then glanced up, met the Lion’s eyes, and nodded once.

The first breath drove him to his knees, pulling him down to depths he’d never known, sending him soaring through events he’d never _dreamt_ of. He wanted that, wanted it so bad he almost answered before the Lion could grant him the second vision.

In truth, he raised his head to answer, only to stagger as the second set of images pressed in around him, demanding his attention, demanding equal consideration. A vice closed around Lou’s chest as he considered his answer, crumpling inside at the realization that he could _truly_ only have one outcome. He wanted both so badly that the normally decisive officer found himself in an internal war, struggling to place what he really, _truly_ wanted.

“Tell Me, Son of Adam, do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

_Did_ he want that? Or did he just _think_ he wanted that? “I do.” His voice was steady, betraying none of the internal conflict. The flat of a sword touched his left shoulder, moved to his right, then tapped his head. His sword.

“Then rise, Sir Lewis Young, Knight of Narnia.”

Steady nerves and confidence returned as he pushed himself up, the visions and the conflict they’d caused disappearing as if they’d never been. He’d made his choice. Was it the right one? He didn’t know, just that it was _his_ choice. A breath touched him, its scent making his nose twitch.

He slept.

* * * * *

The Lion loped along, unnoticed as He traveled through the night once more, towards one of the last. The modest home, with its fence and truck and four bedrooms, while not the happiest home He had ever visited, held potential and promise. The Son of Adam and his wife, the Daughter of Eve, were fighting together, not against each other. In time, their bond would be all the stronger for the testing it had been through.

He padded to the master bedroom, dipping His head and breathing on the Son of Adam to rouse his spirit. Shaking His mane to reveal the _other_ bond, He presented the choice yet again. The Son of Adam pleased Him, refusing to even _consider_ the choice until reassured that his king would not be harmed in the choosing. Once reassured, the Son of Adam paced, plainly trying to make his choice with only the information before him.

* * * * *

“If you wish, Son of Adam, I will strike a bargain with you.”

Ed froze mid-pace, turning to face the Lion in his bedroom. “A bargain?”

Aslan inclined His head. “I shall grant you two visions. The first, a vision of the gifts My Father will grant should you choose to keep the bond. The second will be of the gifts My Father will give should you break the bond.”

“Gifts either way.” Suspicion rang. “What’s the catch?”

“Once you have chosen, I will remove the knowledge from you, leaving only the certainty that you have made your choice and chosen well.”

He didn’t like it – and he _still_ thought there was another catch somewhere…why would you get gifts no matter what you chose? But just making a decision without really _knowing_ rankled, so Ed shrugged. “All right.”

The breath caught him full in the face and he dropped, slamming into the floor, but he hardly felt the impact. No, he was too busy _feeling_ the vision, experiencing it and letting it fill him completely. When it ended, a whimper escaped him and he stayed huddled on the ground, trying to regain his sense of balance, his sense of self.

Minutes passed before he finally regained enough courage to lift his head. Part of him was unsurprised when he was met with a second breath, containing the second vision. Just as the first had, it dragged him in, forcing him through each and every emotion contained within it. Every gift, every reward that waited for him if he chose to break the bond between himself and Greg. As the vision faded, he didn’t need to regain his sense of self or his balance. He’d made his choice, _knew_ it was the right one all the way down to his bones.

“Tell Me, Son of Adam, do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

“I do.” Fierce, determined – even if _everyone_ else left Greg, he _wouldn’t_. A sword tapped his left shoulder, then his right, and finally his head.

“Then rise, Sir Edward Lane, Knight of Narnia.” He pushed himself up, almost grateful when the visions faded from his memory. He’d made his choice, the only one he could live with. One last breath touched him.

He slept.

* * * * *

The night seemed to deepen as He loped through it, towards the final house. Upon reaching it, He padded inside, past the sleeping children to their parents. Rumbling, He breathed upon the last Son of Adam, rousing him from slumber as he had the others.

A brief shake of His mane revealed the bond and He presented the choice afresh. The Son of Adam questioned Him, pleasing the Lion with his concern for his absent king. Once reassured, the Son of Adam considered, then tentatively asked if Aslan could tell him anything else. For a final time, the Lion offered His bargain.

* * * * *

Wordy frowned, leaning back as he considered the pros and cons. More information, but not information he could _keep_. But…did he want to keep it? Did he _want_ to know the future? That always seemed to lead to nothing but trouble – and his team already had _plenty_ of trouble.

“Will I ever remember?” he asked.

“You will not remember the visions, Son of Adam,” Aslan replied. “Even when you live one of them out, you will not remember them.”

Huh…permanent memory loss, no do over. Part of him wanted to ask if anyone else had accepted the bargain, but somehow he knew the Lion would not answer. Rubbing his chin, Wordy closed his eyes, realizing that, as important as this decision was, as _much_ as it was going to affect the _rest_ of his life, he couldn’t afford to _not_ know, even if it meant losing part of his memory.

“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.” Wordy stepped forward, meeting amber eyes.

The breath pulled him in, he vaguely felt himself fall, but his mind was locked in dreams, in a reality that _could_ play out or not. Thrills danced up and down his spine, his _soul_ delighting in the events around him. When the images faded, he found himself on hands and knees, a sharp longing rising from the depths of his being.

Determination pulled his head up, into the second vision. Once more, he was dragged in, _living_ out every event, every emotion shown to him. Delight spilled around him, even more than in the first vision. Joy released him into his bedroom, leaving him torn. The choice…it was so _obvious_. Yet not; his inner being demanded he _think_ , not blindly choose.

The clock ticked away as he _thought_ , as he weighed the pros, the cons, and measured each variable. He wanted parts of both visions, but he knew. All or nothing, no in between. At last, he nodded to himself, decision solidifying in his soul.

“Tell Me, Son of Adam,” the Lion rumbled, “Do you accept My Father’s Gift?”

“I do.” He wanted the second vision more, but the first…it was the _right_ call, he _knew_ it. A sword tapped his shoulders, the left before the right, then his head.

“Then rise, Sir Kevin Wordsworth, Knight of Narnia.” The knowledge dissipated as he rose, leaving only his rock-solid conviction that he’d chosen wisely and well. Aslan breathed in his face one last time.

He slept.

* * * * *

Aslan swished His tail, regarding all six constables. They had chosen as He’d known they would. Though none of them would ever know it, each of them had decided at the _exact_ same instant, only a minute after the last of them had finished falling asleep. The bonds, now fully accepted, thrummed in His sight, wrapping around the Knights’ souls; the magic within them already taking on their new owners’ magical tints. It would take time, He knew, for His Father’s first Gift to develop within them.

But not as much time as it could have. Tash’s curse yet lingered, though he’d restrained it for the moment. With a rumble, Aslan permitted Tash’s actions to resume, nodding approval as the excess magic flooding the links was directed and channeled as His Father willed. The links themselves would remain at their current size, restricting the magical flow without risking harm to either the source of that magic or the newly made Knights.

The constables themselves would sleep till morning, so deeply asleep not even dreams could reach them. The curse affecting their leader would last the full week, but already the Lion had dealt with the matter. Their days would be uneasy, to be sure, but survivable; by necessity, their nights would be early and their slumber uninterruptable, so as to fully turn Tash’s actions back on themselves.

Well pleased with the night’s work, Aslan turned and padded back towards the hospital.

[1] C.S. Lewis, _Prince Caspian_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm praying that today will end somewhere around 5 PM and that no one bothers me until next Tuesday (our client company takes Memorial Day off, so we should get Monday off as well). Even before today began, I was already over 40 hours of work for this week and I fully expect to be over 50 hours by 5 PM. This seems to be a common practice with this client company and I have no idea how long I can handle the workload. No escape in sight either and my Dad was never put in a situation like this during his own career so he's not quite sure how I should handle this.
> 
> My coworker summed it up quite well: The client company doesn't care because they're not liable; we're contractors. Our company doesn't care either; they just want to make money.
> 
> I hope everyone else had a much better week than I did. Honestly, this one has probably been a better one on the whole, but I'm so worn down and exhausted that it's still a bad week for me. I pray that as our country starts opening up, you, my readers, can resume everyday life. As for me, I'm hoping that I can keep working from home. If they were to ask me to go in on a regular basis, I would have to say, 'I can't do that. Not with the work schedule you want.'
> 
> In the meantime, I hope everyone enjoyed today's installment. As always, I adore comments and would be very grateful for anyone willing to take the time to leave one. I promise to reply to each and every single one.


	8. Gift of Grace

The second time Aslan woke him, Greg was not quite as caught off guard as he’d been the first time. Right up until the Lion said, “They have all decided.”

“And?” Oh, he did _not_ like that gleam in Aslan’s amber eyes.

“They wish to remain as they are.”

Greg felt his jaw give way. The chance to be _free_ and they’d turned it _down_? The chance to be out from under the situation _he’d_ put them in and they’d _chosen_ to _stay_? “All of them?” he squeaked.

“All of them,” the Lion confirmed.

Staggering, Greg reached out to lean on the bed and yelped as his hand went right through it; he ended up on the floor, his spirit’s torso _bisected_ by the bed frame. Hastily, he scooted forward, shivering as he reached clear air. Then he leaned over, burying his head in his hands. Why, why, _why_? Why would they _do_ that, why would they _want_ this? And what was he supposed to do _now_?

Glancing up, he pleaded, “I’m no king.” Unspoken was the fear he’d hurt them, the fear he’d get _used_ to this power and start _abusing_ it. The fear he’d let them down, betray the trust they had in him. Why, oh _why_ , would they trust a screwed up, drunken _failure_ with their _souls_? Their lives, he could understand – he _was_ their Sergeant – but their _souls_?

Understanding shone in deep amber eyes. “Son of Adam,” the great Lion replied, leaning down. “My strength is made perfect in your weakness.” His muzzle touched Greg’s chest, warmth spreading from the contact, warmth that filled the man and chased away the doubts, the fears, the uncertainties. “Do not forget; call on Me and I will answer.”

* * * * *

Almost as soon as he woke up, Ed knew he was in trouble. The jittery feeling inside him hadn’t gone away – it had gotten _worse_. He could barely hold still long enough to shower and skipped over his usual bacon and eggs in favor of microwaving a frozen Hot Pocket; that, at least, he could eat on the move. Eyeing his car balefully, Ed slid behind the steering wheel, fully anticipating a jumpy, tension filled drive; he was honestly surprised when the jitters died down enough for him to concentrate.

Once he arrived at St. Mungo’s, the jumpy, move-move- _move_ feeling was back; even the slight jog he broke into didn’t make the feeling die down – if _anything_ , it seemed to make it _worse_. His chest was tingling, his blood was screaming for _something_ , and he had an itch, right along the ridges of his shoulder blades. Holding still for the diagnostic spell was pure _agony_.

“Well?” he asked, shifting and pacing around the room, wishing fervently that the room was _larger_ – maybe with a window, too.

Travis ignored his pacing; instead, she studied the results, brow furrowing. Flipping open her folder, she pulled out a second sheet of parchment, comparing it to the latest scan. “Interesting,” she murmured, absently nibbling on the end of the quill she was using to make notes.

“What? What’s interesting?”

Glancing up, the Healer laid out both parchment scans. “I know it’s hard right now,” she remarked, voice gentle instead of acidic. “See if you can hold still long enough to look.”

The team leader grimaced at the thought, but trailed over to examine the images. One he recognized – the scan that showed just how much he was _swimming_ in Greg’s magic. The other… Ed gawked – it was his silhouette, but much of the scarlet had turned to _yellow_. Oh, Greg’s scarlet was still _there_ , but since _when_ did _he_ have magic?

“What the heck is going on?” Chills ran up and down his spine – what was happening to him? To _them_?

“I’m not sure, Constable Lane,” Healer Travis replied. “It may be that the Cleansing Potion is allowing you to treat Sergeant Parker’s magic as if it were your own.”

“So I don’t get addicted?”

An absent nod. “You can’t get addicted to your own magic, Constable Lane. If that’s the case, then a regime of Cleansing Potions _should_ allow you and your teammates to avoid the worst of this…situation.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “You know more?”

She flinched. “The unknown potion…no, we haven’t identified what it is yet, I’m afraid.” Travis sighed, digging in her folder for another sheaf of parchment. “The booster, however, that we’ve been able to pin down. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

“Seven days?”

“In a word, yes. That magic booster is the strongest one we keep on hand and we’ve discovered a vial missing from a batch brewed within the past month by our best Potions Mistress.”

“The fresher, the better?” Ed questioned, probing for any weak points as he paced around the room, grimacing at the caged feeling raging within.

Susan nodded. “I’d like you and your teammates to come in at the end of your workday for more core scans. If your results then are the same as they are right now, I see no problem with using the same dosage as last night.”

“And if they’re not?”

The blonde glanced up at him. “Let’s not borrow trouble, Constable Lane. Would you like to see your boss before you leave?”

Tension easing a trifle, Ed inclined his head and trailed after her. “He wake up yet?”

“Not as of yet. In light of the sabotage, I decided against another dose of Draught of the Living Death, so all he’s on now is Cleansing Potions.”

Plus the sabotage potions, Ed realized grimly. As if in response, his gut took to swirling with butterflies – manic, oversized butterflies that were making his heart give uncomfortable lurches inside his chest. Another part of him sensed he was getting close to _Greg_ , sending anticipation soaring. As if the mere presence of the other man was important, in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

Once they arrived, the team leader poked his head in, wary of disturbing his recovering boss. A wry grin spread across his face. “Well he’s definitely on the mend.”

Travis arched a brow. “What makes you say that, Constable Lane?”

Ed waved to the bed where his boss was curled up, expression surprisingly serene and content. “Greg almost _always_ ends up on his side,” he explained. “Honestly, I was surprised you were able to keep him on his back as long as you did.”

A smile crept across Travis’s face. “Well, we Healers do have our ways,” she replied.

* * * * *

Ed pushed himself faster, the treadmill squeaking beneath him as he attempted to outrun the raw, untamed magic driving him _nuts_. Beside him, Wordy panted, but upped the speed on his own treadmill anyway. “Ed, let’s _not_ do that again.”

“Copy,” the team leader agreed, shuddering.

Although the team had been able to swap off, filling out paperwork and getting the guns cleaned, there had been a problem. Ed was the only one left who could _sign_ the completed paperwork. Even worse, Winnie had passed on Commander Holleran’s request that Ed get everything back to him by the end of the day. In a desperate attempt to get all of the pending paperwork signed, Ed had ordered Wordy to hold him down in his chair until every last sheet was done. It had worked, but both men were suffering from the aftereffects – sweat thick enough to turn their sweatshirts a darker shade of gray and jitters bad enough that even a flat out run on the treadmill wasn’t alleviating the symptoms.

The rest of their teammates weren’t much better off, for all that they hadn’t had to sit – or stand – still for close to an hour. Spike had abandoned his usual elliptical machine for the weightlifting machines – which he _usually_ avoided like the _plague_ – and he’d upped them almost to their max. Lou had surpassed his prior pull up record inside of ten minutes and _still_ hadn’t stopped. Jules had dispensed with her usual hand-to-hand workout in favor of pulling a series of intricate, complex gymnastic moves that looked like they _hurt_. And Sam was doing his best to batter the punching bag to death, his frustrated expression telling his teammates _just_ how well that was working out for him.

Ed put his head down, hoping, _praying_ that the situation would get better. But frankly, he wasn’t holding his breath. Seven days of Greg using them all as ‘reservoirs’ for his excess magic. Seven days of being filled to the brim with Wild Magic. And Aslan only knew how long it would be before Greg could take that magic _back_.

* * * * *

Naturally, they couldn’t catch a break; Healer Travis took one look at their scans and laid them out. Each and every scan was almost completely _scarlet_ , with only the barest remnants of their own magical colors showing in the middle. The Healer, almost as desperate as the team to avoid the seemingly unavoidable magic addiction, decreed a stronger dose of Cleansing Potion. As soon as the team agreed, she dropped the other shoe. A two hour earlier bedtime.

* * * * *

Hardly able to keep from fidgeting his way right out of his own skin, Ed explained the bare bones of the situation to Sophie. The potions coursing through Greg’s system and how _that_ was spilling over to the rest of them – though he skipped over the exact mechanics of _why_ that was happening. The fact that he was looking at possibly becoming addicted to magic – though he left out _whose_ magic that would be. And Healer Travis’ last ditch efforts to prevent that fate.

Pale and trembling with fear for her husband, Sophie all but shoved him into bed herself. In no mood to argue, Ed swallowed the Cleansing Potion down and waited for sleep to take him. Less than a minute later, the constable’s body relaxed, slumping down and falling asleep.

His mind did not.

* * * * *

A frown touched Greg Parker’s face as his team leader’s plight reverberated through the ‘team sense’. Rolling onto his stomach, the slumbering man murmured, “Take the potions and go to sleep, guys.”

As Ed’s mind finally joined his body in sleep, the five other constables obeyed their Sergeant’s order. Although their obedience was not as mindless as it had been under the influence of the tainted magic, it was still very much automatic. Between the order from their Sergeant and the Cleansing Potion’s sleep inducing properties, none of the constables woke until morning.

* * * * *

The Wild Magic hummed within the constables as it worked, faithfully fulfilling the Lion’s commands. Although the magic had only worked at its task for a single day, the excess power running through the humans was already being re-purposed from the Dark One’s intent and harnessed for the Emperor’s Gifts. With plentiful amounts of raw material flooding through the links, it would be some time before continued progress on the Gifts would need more…direct…intervention. Still…something was missing. The humans were resisting the final step, the final action necessary to fully stabilize their bonds. The newborn bonds had never been meant to wrap around the _soul_ – no, no, such a thing was against the Emperor’s magic. Though some humans whispered of _soul bonds_ , regarding them as mystical and powerful connections, it was _strictly forbidden_ by the Deep Magic. Only the fact that the source of the bonds was an active magical core had permitted the current situation – but such a situation could _not_ last forever.

The bulk of the progress, thus far, had been dedicated to _eliminating_ the current precarious and borderline _Dark_ situation, but the humans still hadn’t taken the hint. The longer it took for them to do so, the worse their situation would get. And so, though the Wild Magic wasn’t sentient in itself, it was certainly capable of acting on its own when necessary.

If the humans wouldn’t take the hint, then the magic would handle the matter _itself_.

* * * * *

Ed woke gasping; his chest was on _fire_ , his blood molten _lava_ running through his veins, and his shoulder blades so sensitive that even the bed sheets were driving him _crazy_. It didn’t hurt, not a bit, but he _couldn’t hold still_. Scrambling out of bed, he headed for the shower and spent the entire time trying to move around as much as their bathtub/shower combination permitted. Even when his feet stopped moving, his hands kept twitching and his fingers flexed open and closed, tiny yellow sparks flying every so often.

Sophie was up by the time he was out of the shower and dressed; her worried gaze tracked his movements as he paced around the kitchen, scissors in one hand and another one of Clark’s Hot Pockets in the other. Abruptly, she snatched both from him. “Try not to kill yourself, Eddie.”

Despite the harsh words, her fear was obvious; it mirrored his terror. For one precious minute, Ed managed to come to a complete halt, burying his head in his hands. He _hated_ this – hated the feel of foreign magic running through his body, doing its best to drive him _mad_. Hated being physically unable to _hold still_.

“Soph…my chest…”

Fear burned brighter. “Ed?”

Despair looked up. “My chest feels like it’s on fire.”

She moved to him, pulling up his shirt so she could check herself. Ed sighed as her cool hands touched skin that felt red-hot, nearly burning from the magic running through him. Then Sophie shook her head. “Ed, you feel fine to me.” Her dark eyes met his. “Talk to me, Eddie.”

He couldn’t hold still any more. Pacing and wound as tight as a caged tiger, he replied, “It’s like I’ve got lava instead of blood, Soph. Only…it doesn’t _hurt_ …it makes me want to do _something_ , but I can’t figure out _what_.” He spread his hands, watching a random yellow spark fly from one finger. “My chest is burning up and I’m warm all over, but it’s all _inside_.”

The microwave beeped and Sophie snatched the Hot Pocket out. “Go, Eddie. Get to St. Mungo’s and tell that Healer to _make this stop!_ ”

Ed grimaced; he had a nasty feeling the only way to make it stop – was for Greg to die. And _that_ was unacceptable.

* * * * *

If standing still for the diagnostic had been _agony_ yesterday, today it was _excruciating_. And only possible because Healer Travis had taken one look at him and cast a modified _Petrificus_ that held him immobile while she did the diagnostic. Even under the _Petrificus_ , Ed felt his body vibrating, aching, _longing_ for movement and release.

When the spell around him dissipated, Ed’s feet moved without his conscious consent, moving him around the room, everything inside him _screaming_ for _something_. He managed to slow enough to cast a quick glance at the parchment, absently noting that his silhouette was back to being mostly yellow, with Greg’s scarlet around the edges.

“Is there _anything_ you can do to make this stop?” he begged. “Slow it down more or help us shed the energy?”

“Nothing,” Susan replied, watching him with aching eyes. “I wish there _was_ something, Constable Lane; I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now.” Shaking her head, the Healer asked, “Would you like to come with me and check on Sergeant Parker? I was just about to check on him when you came in.”

The team leader swore his heart _leapt_ and his response came before he could even _think_ about it. “Sure.”

* * * * *

Just outside the room, Susan paused.

“What?” Ed asked, struggling to hold still and keep from _running_ into his friend’s room.

“I just remembered…I have some parchmentwork that needs to be filled out. You go on in and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Ed felt himself nod, then he was moving, striding into Greg’s room. He turned to glance at the bed, expecting to see a slumbering friend – and he did. Then the fire inside him surged upwards, flooding mind, heart, and soul.

His body moved, but he wasn’t aware of it. All of his attention was locked on Greg; he didn’t even register his hands coming up, fingers spreading, palms out. His heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all other sound; he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d tried.

Vaguely, he felt his hands touch. Power roared inside his skull, coalescing around him and his best friend, his leader, his brother in all but blood. Magic flowed between them, lighting up the bond they shared, a bond created thrice over. Once unknowingly. Once knowingly, accepted more in ignorance than in truth. And now…now he _knew_ what it was, _knew_ the truth of it and _willingly_ accepted it.

He felt the bond sink home, felt the magic swirl around them both, compressing down into him, into _them_. For the first time in _years_ , he felt complete – _whole_. The warmth in his chest surged higher and in that moment, Ed felt the final pieces of the puzzle click into place. He _remembered_. He remembered the Lion, remembered the choice offered, even remembered accepting the bargain. The visions he’d seen…they were gone, never to return, but he _remembered_.

All this time, the magic inside him had been waiting. Waiting to finish its task and reforge the bond – little wonder he’d almost gone crazy. How could he not have seen it? For crying out _loud_ , he’d _been_ in Greg’s room that _first day_.

_‘Ed?’_

The team leader blinked, finally registering that he was standing right over Greg – and probably scaring him half to death.

Amusement nudged him. _‘I’m not scared, Eddie, but you probably want to let go now.’_

Let…go…? Ed glanced down, eyes widening as he saw his hands pressed firmly against a tawny shoulder.

Then he froze, jerking back as his jaw dropped open.

The gryphon on the bed turned his head, bemused hazel meeting stunned blue.


	9. The Sun Still Rises

Fear locked his feet in place, even as a furious indignation surged within him. He was staring at the gryphon. The _gryphon_ – he’d thought that _thing_ was _gone_ , out of Greg’s life for _good_. Never to return, never to destroy his best friend’s life again. The animal cocked his head to the side, confusion gleaming in those inhuman eyes.

The eyes… Staring into them, Ed understood. Finally grasped just how deep the division between Greg and his magic had been. Even when the gryphon had been firmly under Greg’s _control_ , the eyes had _never_ been _his_. Hazel, yes, but _inhuman_ , with the ruthless glint of a predator. No compassion, no guilt, no sorrow, and _certainly_ not any regret.

Until now. Beneath the confusion, Greg’s inborn empathy and compassion glowed. And… Ed’s gaze traveled down; he cringed. “Greg, hold still.”

_‘Eddie?’_

“Just hold still, Boss,” Ed ordered, gingerly working the sheets out from under the gryphon’s body.

_‘Ed, my wings.’_ Alarm threaded the mental words.

“Yeah, Greg, I see it.” Almost. Almost. Easy to see how it had happened… Greg rolling over in his sleep, first on his side and later another roll onto his stomach. The excess magic, seeking an outlet, seizing its chance to be _used_.

There. The sheets came loose, freeing the gryphon’s wings and releasing pressure on the delicate bone structure. Greg’s sigh of relief echoed in his team leader’s head. _‘Thanks, Ed.’_

“No problem, Greg.” Ed pulled the sheets further down, frowning as he attempted to inspect the wings for damage. “Hey, could you hop down and spread ‘em? Make sure nothing’s broken.”

_‘A few broken feathers aren’t a problem, Eddie, and nothing hurts.’_

“Greg. Humor me.”

The gryphon grumbled, but unfurled from his comfortable spot and leapt down to the floor. The wings spread, extending out so Ed could get a good look. The sniper paced around his Animagus friend, reaching out and running a hand along the edge of one wing.

_‘Eddie, that tickles!’_ The wing was jerked away, Greg shooting him a baleful glare.

“Seriously, Greg, stop it. Bring that back.” For a moment, Sergeant and constable faced off; Ed hiked a brow and crossed his arms, expression turning unimpressed.

More grumbles made their way through the link as Greg reluctantly brought his wing back within grabbing range. Ed ignored the complaints as he carefully felt along the wing, checking for any give under his hands. When he was done with one wing, he moved to the other, glaring at his friend when Greg made to pull the second wing away. Hissing, the gryphon left the wing where it was, the muscles under Ed’s fingers twitching as he checked for any damage.

“Greg…” Ed breathed as he finished his examination and stepped back.

_‘What?’_ Annoyance and displeasure rang.

“You can _fly_.”

Greg’s beak dropped open and he snapped his head sideways to check his wings. Fixed hazel eyes seemed to widen; then his form _blurred_ and Ed yelped, diving forward to catch his friend before Parker could introduce his nose to the tiles.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, Ed couldn’t stay long after the discovery – he left as Healer Travis started to explain the events of the past few days – but his outlook was _much_ improved. Greg was _awake_ , clearly on the upswing, sabotage or no sabotage, and he himself _finally_ had a semblance of control over the excess magic running through his system. In the wake of the bond… _stabilization_ …he no longer felt like he’d drunk ten deluxe-sized cappuccinos in a row. No, it had gone back down to a mere four; jittery, uncomfortable, but livable.

_‘Eddie?’_

The team leader grimaced, more than a bit unnerved by the mental communication; he’d barely registered it when Greg was in his Animagus form, but _now_ …

_‘Eddie, how are the others?’_

“Not now, Greg, I’m driving,” Ed mumbled, hoping his boss could ‘hear’ him. Telepathy – magical or otherwise – had always been one of those super powers he had _zero_ interest in. Something about it just unnerved him. Sadly, he had a nasty feeling the mental communication wasn’t going anywhere. After all, if the ‘team sense’ no longer transmitted _emotions_ , what was left?

Pulling into the barn’s parking lot, the team leader parked his car and slid out.

_‘Ed?’_

Suppressing a groan, Ed turned back to his car and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Greg, you’re freaking me out and everyone’s going to think I’ve gone crazy.”

_‘You mean they don’t already think that?’_

Ed smirked at the banter and the slight teasing grin he could sense from his boss. “Greg, I can’t go around talking to myself,” he hissed.

_‘Ed, I hear you, but I’ve got to know. Travis explained everything she could, but she doesn’t know about the links.’_ Greg paused, as if weighing what else to add.

Resigned to the knowledge that he was _not_ getting out of a mental conversation with a man several _kilometers_ away, Ed huffed and headed into the barn, angling for the locker room and hoping no one else was inside. Thankfully, no one was.

“And how do you suggest I avoid the sidelong looks when I start talking to thin air?”

_‘Talk via the link?’_

A shudder ran up Ed’s spine at the response. Talk _back_ to the voices in his head?

Something ran through the link and into him – a sense of understanding and wry regard. _‘Ed, I’m sorry.’_

“Not your fault,” Ed mumbled.

_‘No, I shouldn’t be pushing you. Not this fast, not this early.’_

Darting a glance around, the team leader whispered, “I can report once I’m in the briefing room, Greg.”

_‘No.’_

Ed blinked.

_‘Ed, I trust your judgment. Take a good look…if they’re as bad off as I’m afraid they are, get them over here; I’ve already got a few ideas.’_

An idea of his own sparked. “Greg, you want me to tell Commander Holleran you’re up?”

A soundless query reached him, giving him a mental image of Greg cocking his head ever so slightly to the side, one brow arching.

“I pitch the idea of patrolling today and ask him for permission to drop the latest round of paperwork off; he’s gotta know how jumpy we’ve been past couple of days.”

He got the distinct impression of Greg wincing, then his boss’s attention snapped against him. _‘How_ have _you been handling the paperwork?’_

“Badly,” Ed murmured. “We’ve all been doing it, but I’m the only one who can sign. Word had to hold me down yesterday.” A mental picture of himself and Wordy formed; he stiffened when he realized he’d _accidentally_ sent it through the link. “Greg, don’t you dare,” he hissed.

_‘What, Eddie, blame myself? I’m not quite that self-destructive; this is because of the magic booster I got dosed with, isn’t it.’_

“Maybe,” Ed whispered, though a part of him now thought the jitters had _far_ more to do with the unformed bond than the excess magic flowing through them. Almost as soon as he had the thought, he cringed, hoping Greg hadn’t caught it.

_‘Eddie…’_

The team leader rested his forehead against the cool metal of his locker. “Is it you or me?”

_‘Maybe a bit of both, Ed. I opened the link, so that part’s on me, but you’re shoving things at me.’_

“How do I _stop_?” He did _not_ want Greg reading his mind, even unintentionally.

_‘It’s still the ‘team sense’, Ed; how did you keep me from feeling all your emotions?’_

Surprise darted through him. “It’s that simple?”

_‘I think it should be, Ed, but I can’t tell you how.’_

It took a few tries, but the team leader managed to mentally wrestle his emotional defense into place around his thoughts. Almost as soon as he did so, a pressure he hadn’t even registered lessened, giving him that much more control over what _he_ had access to and what _Greg_ had access to. Relief surged, but it was short lived as the locker room door swung open and he got a good look at his _other_ best friend.

_‘Greg…look at_ Wordy _.’_

It was only when he sensed a stunned silence that he realized. He’d just spoken through the ‘team sense’… _and_ he’d just let Greg _see_ through _his_ eyes.

* * * * *

“How are you holding still?” Wordy blurted, shock and jealousy interlacing as he stared at Ed, fingers twitching and his feet _screaming_ to _move_ , _move_ , _move_. The team leader was standing in front of his locker, an ease to him that Wordy _longed_ for. Funny. For a moment, it almost looked like Ed’s blue eyes swirled with hazel.

The other shrugged without responding to his question. “Tell everyone to hit the briefing room,” Ed ordered. “I’m gonna see if I can sweet talk Holleran into letting us patrol today.”

“You think we can handle that?” Surprise and doubt rang.

“Well, Word, we’re gonna have to. Once the Boss is back, we’ll be back to business as usual.”

Wordy groaned, thumping his head into his locker door as Ed left. Do a patrol or, worse, a hot call when none of them could even hold _still_? Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.

* * * * *

Utterly unnerved, Ed was grateful that after that split second of letting Greg _see_ what he could, the other man had backed off. Oh, Greg was still there, he could _feel_ it, but the Sergeant’s mental voice was silent, giving the team leader precious breathing room. Funny though…he’d thought Greg would leave him alone completely.

Turning his head towards the nearest wall, he mumbled, “Talk to you later, Greg?”

_‘That was the plan, Ed, but I can’t shut the link down.’_

One brow arched. Wasn’t that the whole point of the bond?

_‘Ed, it’s still the ‘team sense’. And I_ should _be able to turn it off, but I can’t.’_

Understanding broke through and Ed tipped his head in a subtle nod. “Like you used to turn it off when you went off-duty.”

Agreement vibrated. _‘I think…I think I might know what that other potion was for, Eddie.’_ Without waiting for Ed to ask, Greg continued, _‘When I try to turn the ‘team sense’ off, it feels like it’s trying, but something’s stopping it. Can you try from your end?’_

Ed frowned, unsure of how to try; an instant later, a mental image of _how_ to turn the ‘team sense’ off floated through his head. Shivering at the telepathic knowledge transfer, the team leader applied the silent instructions; a chill ran up his spine. He could _feel_ the ‘team sense’ shuddering, trying to respond, but it couldn’t. “It’s jammed.”

_‘I think it is,’_ Greg confirmed. _‘I’ll keep trying, but until then…’_

“Copy.” Until the ‘team sense’ could be shut down, this…telepathy…was going to be a constant. Shaking off his unease, Ed headed for Winnie’s desk; she glanced up at him, curious and expectant. “Winnie, is Holleran in?”

“He is,” Winnie replied, “Want me to ask if you can head in?”

Ed tilted his head down in confirmation, appreciating the dispatcher’s quick response. Winnie turned away, picking up the handset with one hand while slim fingers punched in the commander’s office extension. She spoke quietly for a few seconds, then turned and nodded in the sniper’s direction. Ed rapped the countertop in unspoken thanks as he passed by on his way to his commander’s office.

Inside the office, Commander Holleran looked up from his own stacks of paperwork. “Any news?”

A grin broke free. “Yes, sir,” Ed replied. “Greg woke up this morning.”

Relief shone in the commander’s dark eyes. “How’s he doing, Ed?”

Ed moved one hand in a see-saw motion. “He just woke up, sir, but he seemed all right to me. Not sure how much longer the Healers will want to keep him.”

Holleran nodded once, accepting the report. “Let me guess, you want Team One on patrol today…with a quick stop first.”

The team leader squirmed. “Yes, sir. And…um…”

Amusement gleamed. “Parker _just_ woke up and you _already_ want to dump the paperwork on him?”

Well, when he put it like _that_ … Ed’s squirming grew worse, but he didn’t deny it.

Holleran shook his head in bemusement. “If Parker’s up for it, fine by me, but don’t push him, Constable.”

“No, sir, I won’t,” Ed agreed at once.

“And tell him I’ll be by this afternoon to debrief him.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Ed strode into the briefing room, three sets of keys in his hand. “Okay,” he called, ignoring the askance looks from his teammates. “Patrol today with a stop at St. Mungo’s first; Boss is awake.”

Team One cheered, attitudes instantly improving at the thought of their Sergeant visibly on the mend.

“Word, Sam, you two are driving,” Ed added. “I’ll drive the third truck.” Quite frankly, the team leader was reluctant to even let the two Squibs drive, but they at least appeared marginally more in control than his fellow techie teammates.

The whole team was ragged around the edges, exhausted, but so full of magical energy that they couldn’t catch so much as a breather. The magic was masking the issues, but Ed had very little doubt that once the magic booster ran out, all of them were going to crash. Big time. Even himself and Greg.

“Lou, check in with Winnie; she’s putting together today’s paperwork for the Boss.”

“Tell her to put in a box of pens,” Jules suggested.

“Got it,” Lou acknowledged.

* * * * *

Ed deliberately hung back, letting his teammates slip inside Greg’s room first. The team leader slid in, placing his burden on a handy table, then glanced over, wincing.

His teammates were staring at their Sergeant with blank expressions – had _he_ looked like that? Without hesitation or even a glance at each other, the five constables slid into position, reaching for the gryphon lying on the bed. Hazel flicked in Ed’s direction and the team leader froze; Greg’s eyes were just as glazed as the rest. The magic inside him…inside _them_ …running the show and _determined_ not to be gainsaid.

He _felt_ it when his teammates’ hands touched sleek fur, the magic roaring through the bonds as they established themselves; though he wasn’t _directly_ connected to his teammates, he _was_ connected to Greg. One by one, one right after the other, the bonds slid home, each sending waves of magic, emotion, and thought washing through the team. Ed reached out, bracing himself on the table, watching as his friends came back to themselves, the magic within them finally dying down to a manageable level. Complete – _whole_ – and finally remembering the decision that had brought each of them to this point.

When he’d made his choice, he’d wondered if he was the only one. The only one to _choose_ Greg, to _choose_ the bond. Realization sparked; they’d _all_ chosen to keep the bond. Talk about irony – Greg had probably been expecting, _hoping_ , that they’d chose to break it. To be free. Instead…

“Looks like we’re all in this together,” Wordy observed, a smile playing over his mouth.

“All for one and one for all,” Spike agreed instantly; the geek ignored the incredulous glares he earned.

“Okay, one last thing, then we gotta get going,” Ed announced. “Spike, Lou, move; Greg, you’re up.”

The techs moved and the gryphon leapt down to the floor, immediately spreading his wings. Jaws dropped.

“Boss,” Lou breathed.

“You can _fly!_ ” Spike exclaimed.

* * * * *

Greg was quietly grateful when Commander Holleran slipped into the room; it gave him an excuse to stop working on the white forest assembled on the hospital desk in front of him. Honestly, he was impressed his team had been able to get through _all_ the paperwork, even with, as Ed had put it, double-digit cups of coffee running through their systems. Particularly since some of the paperwork _wasn’t_ in his normal workload…

“Sergeant Parker.”

“Sir.”

When Greg made to stand, Holleran waved him back down. “No, Greg, stay down; you _are_ in the hospital for a reason.”

“Yes, sir.” The Sergeant waited until his commander was seated before asking, “What can I do for you, sir?”

Holleran pinned him with his best bland expression. “Mostly, Greg, I’m dropping by to check up on you.”

“Mostly.”

A faint half-smile, half-grimace. “I’m also here to debrief you on what happened at Fletcher Stadium.”

Suspicion stirred – debriefing was something he usually did with his _team_ , not his commander. “Was there something in particular, sir?”

For a long moment, Commander Holleran held his gaze, silent. Then the older man sighed, one hand coming up to rub at his graying hair as he dropped his eyes away. “Greg. Do I need to be concerned about you being on-duty?”

His mental filter was clearly on the fritz, because Greg opened his mouth and replied, “You mean, am I suicidal, sir?”

The air seemed to freeze. Then Holleran sighed again and nodded. “I read the transcript, Greg. Listened to the audio. What I don’t know is _why_. _Why_ wouldn’t you give Ed’s idea a shot, _why_ did you _want_ Collins to let go of that rope?”

Parker’s own gaze dropped. “At that point, sir, I didn’t know about my… _physical_ …condition.”

Holleran paused. “You mean your physical inability to control your…magic…?”

A faint smile crept in. “Still getting used to that, sir?”

“Greg, it’s one thing to find out magic is real. It’s quite another to realize some of the men I serve with _have_ magic.”

“Copy that.” Humor still glimmered, but Greg sobered. “Yes, sir; I didn’t realize it was a _physical_ issue, one that could be corrected.” He lifted his eyes, meeting Holleran’s. “You want to know why I wouldn’t give Eddie’s plan a shot?”

“Yes, I do.”

His fingers curled, shoulders hunching as he re-lived those moments. “The first time it took control,” he whispered, “I could feel it.”

Holleran stilled, horror swirling around him.

“I could _feel_ it move my hands, fighting the flex cuffs. It was fighting, struggling to get loose, and I couldn’t do _anything_.” Shivers traveled up and down his spine. “I knew what it would do if it got loose, sir, but I couldn’t stop it.” The terror that had engulfed him in those moments. “But that wasn’t the worst part, sir.”

“What was?” The question was hushed, as though Holleran was unsure he _wanted_ the answer.

“Every time it took control, it took longer to get it back,” Greg choked out. “My body was numb, I couldn’t feel any more. Couldn’t hear any more. Couldn’t _see_ any more.” Blackness and _nothingness_. “I knew it wanted my team, but I couldn’t stop it.” He shook his head. “And when I fell…I heard it scream with _my_ voice.” Words…words were so pitifully inadequate to explain.

“Greg.” He glanced up, shades of that fear burning bright. “If _it_ had gotten away, what would have happened?”

Death. Blood and fury and destruction; it wouldn’t have _mattered_ that he was Squib-born. The enraged, feral gryphon would have done as _much_ damage as it could and forced the Aurors to go lethal if they wanted to survive. If they wanted to stop the carnage. Not just him, either; if he was _right_ and the gryphon _had_ tainted the ‘team sense’ in that _one_ moment it could, then his team would’ve been _right_ there with the _thing_. They would’ve died, too.

Holleran studied him, reading the answer in his face. “And now?”

Greg met his commander’s gaze calmly. “From what Healer Travis has told me, the… _independence_ my magic displayed only occurs with magic that’s outside the magical core. She’s examined the weapon Ed found on me in detail; apparently, someone managed to embed a spell into the polymer that forced my magic to re-merge with my core; once that happened, I regained control.”

“And you won’t lose it again?”

One shoulder lifted. “My core is still more than a bit shaky, but once I get past the first two weeks or so, sir, Travis believes I’ll be in the clear. No magic-side duty until then, just in case.” Not to mention the _scolding_ he’d received for overextending and saving Roy Lane’s life; Travis had acknowledged his feat, then ripped him up one side and down the other for taking such an _extreme_ risk with a Squib-sized magical core. Also for ‘encouraging’ his teammates to try similar feats with their _own_ magic.

Commander Holleran regarded him for another minute, then inclined his head. “Don’t do this again, Sergeant Parker.”

“Do my best, sir,” Greg promised. As his commander rose to his feet, the Sergeant cleared his throat, earning an inquiring glance. “Sir…is some of this _your_ paperwork?”

His commander’s smile reminded him of a self-satisfied cat. “Have Lane bring that back once you’re done, Sergeant Parker.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Ed slipped into the hospital room, unsurprised to see that Greg was no longer alone; two teenage forms were curled up on either side of their uncle, snuggled so close that Alanna’s red strands were mixing with her brother’s shorter brown. The pair was asleep, their heads cushioned on Greg’s chest, oblivious to the uncomfortable hospital bed underneath them.

_‘How are they, Eddie?’_

The team leader grimaced, but accepted Greg’s silent order to keep from waking his _nipotes_. Awkward, he reached inwards, straining to use the telepathy that still unnerved him. Badly. _‘Three muggers, four shoplifters, and a couple that tried to walk out on their bar bill,’_ he reported, doing his best to pretend he was speaking aloud. _‘Also ran into a couple of tourists that_ really _wanted to get their picture taken with Toronto’s finest.’_

The Sergeant chuckled softly. _‘I hope you treated them right, Constable Lane.’_

Ed fidgeted. _‘Greg, when two six-year-olds come up with their parents and beg for a picture, I’m not sayin’ no.’_ Tilting his head to the side, he asked, _‘How’d it go with Holleran?’_

_‘He’s just doing his job, Eddie.’_ Jerking his chin at the completed paperwork, Greg added, _‘He did want me to have you drop all of this off.’_

_‘Copy.’_

When Ed made no move to pick up the paperwork, Greg arched a brow. _‘Was there something else, Ed?’_

Huffing, the team leader frowned, considering how to phrase his reply. After a minute, he turned. _‘One sec, Greg.’_

_‘Copy that.’_

Outside, Ed picked up the evidence bag from the Healer’s station, signing the chain of custody with a pen he’d swiped from the box of pens Winnie had sent with the paperwork. Gun in hand, he returned to the hospital room, moving over to place the bag right in front of Greg. _‘Take a look.’_

Confused, but game, Greg picked up the bag, examining the weapon inside. _‘Ed?’_

_‘Serial number, Boss.’_

Silence reigned as the Sergeant turned the bag and carefully read the number through the gleam on the bag and the grime embedded into the weapon itself. _‘Ed…this is…’_

_‘Your gun. Yeah.’_ Ed shook his head. _‘I think they knew, Greg.’_

_‘Who knew what, Eddie?’_

Blinking, Ed asked, _‘Greg, do you remember what happened after you fell?’_

The Sergeant looked up. _‘No, Ed, I don’t and I don’t think I ever will; by that point, my magic wasn’t connected to my core anymore. Any independent memories it formed probably died when it re-merged with me.’_ Ed winced, but gave his boss a brief synopsis of what had happened and _who_ had appeared in the stadium. Greg frowned, asking a clarifying question or two before leaning back against the pillows behind him. _‘You think they knew what was happening to me?’_

_‘Yeah, Greg, I do. I think they decided to do something about it, too. I didn’t hear what Lord said to you…the gryphon…but Miracle told me flat out that they had orders to keep us from interfering in rebuilding the foundation.’_

_‘Rebuilding my magical core’s foundation,’_ Greg mused.

_‘I think so,’_ Ed confirmed. Glancing at the gun, he asked, _‘What are you going to do with it, Boss?’_

Parker examined his old sidearm for several long moments. _‘It needs a gunsmith.’_

_‘Yeah.’_

After a minute, Greg set the bag down again. _‘It’s still evidence, Ed.’_

_‘I asked Holleran; he said the whole call’s getting sealed under the Official Secrets Act. There’s not going to_ be _an investigation. It’s yours if you want it.’_

Greg absorbed that, then nodded. _‘I’ll keep it, Ed. Just like it is.’_

_‘You don’t want to use it again?’_ Surprise rang.

Sergeant Gregory Parker glanced up at his subordinate, a smile crossing his face. “Ed, they didn’t have to help me. They _chose_ to do that; they _chose_ to go against Tash.”

Ed considered, then nodded. “You want to remember that.”

“Yes, I do.”

For close to a minute, silence reigned; the comfortable silence of friends. Then Greg cleared his throat, drawing Ed’s attention once more.

“Tell me more about this patrol today, Eddie.”


	10. Epilogue

Fury swept through him, fueled by outrage and sheer _hatred_. How _dare_ the great _cat_ ruin his lovely, lovely plans for revenge. How _dare_ the Emperor promise to _restrict_ His Gifts to the humans and then turn around and grant them _more_. How _dare_ They use _his_ revenge to grant those Gifts!

All that sweet anticipation and it had fallen to _ash_ when he realized what was happening. What the _cat_ and His _miserable_ Father had done. Oh, he’d tried to recover, tried to _ensure_ his revenge would triumph, but the guardian’s magic and the bonds had repelled him, the power shielding them far too strong for even his own might to penetrate. Instead he’d been forced to watch as the humans were granted treasure far beyond their ken. It would take them _months_ to discover the whole of what the _cat_ had given them, but they would. What _had_ been his greatest revenge had become _their_ reward. His triumph had turned to bitter, bitter defeat.

Ruby red eyes narrowed as they turned from the humans to his servant. Now _she_ was a true asset, one of the few humans who’d _embraced_ everything he had to offer. She walked in darkness and reveled in it. Delighted in forcing others to _join_ her in that darkness. Oh, how he’d laughed when she’d bound the _cat’s_ foolish magical heir to her will. The little _knight_ had been so much a _fool_ that he’d refused to use his native powers, even as he watched _another_ use magic. His servant had been in her _element_ , forcing the _fool_ to betray all he’d been, all he believed in. Such a pity that one was now free.

Perhaps…perhaps it was time he played a longer game. Yes, yes, perhaps he’d been too hasty, too eager to bring the guardian and his own down. Understandable…they’d been right on the edge, so _easy_ to finish off – how could he have resisted such an easy _tip_ of the dominos?

But _now_ … Camelot was in play once more. The _Emperor_ ; Tash cursed His name again; had decreed they could choose anew whom they would serve, but there were ways around that. So many _delicious_ forms of treachery to impress upon them, twisting the knife and turning them against their one time friend and secret protector. So many ways to _prove_ to them that their friend was nothing of the kind any more. That he’d _turned_ on them and _everything_ Camelot stood for.

Uther Pendragon was beyond his grasp; he’d been impossible to bring back. But _Arthur_ Pendragon was his father’s son – hateful and mistrusting of magic. _When_ he saw what his once best friend _was_ , _who_ he fought beside… Delightful. Yes, very promising, very promising indeed.

Let the guardian have his little victory. Let his sycophants wallow in the Emperor’s Gifts.

_He_ would claim the _ultimate_ triumph. The _war_ would be _his_.

And so would _they_.

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that ominous note, we finally come to a close. I hope everyone enjoyed the two-parter surrounding Day Game; I admit, I hadn't initially planned on a two-parter, but that's the way it worked out. I think it all worked out for the best, even if it meant whumping Greg for two stories straight (actually, a whole lot more than that, but who's counting?).
> 
> As always, I adore comments and I appreciate each and every one of them, so pretty please with a cherry on top?
> 
> For our next order of business, we'll be starting "Bang Bang You're Dead" this Friday, June 5th 2020.
> 
> See You on the Battlefield!


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